Leaning over, Midge gives me a pat on my knee. When she sits back, she shoots me a confident smile. "I'm not worried. You have this one in the bag."
God, I hope so.
I haven't been able to even think about the possibility of losing. The actual thought of letting Jenna down is too terrifying to give credence.
"Now that business is out of the way, tell me, how are you doing personally?" Midge asks.
Taking a sip of my whiskey, valiantly able to not grimace, I give her a smile. "I'm good."
"Got a man in your life?" she asks me point-blank, and I have to contain the surprise on my face. Midge has never shown any interest in my personal life before. Does she know about Reeve?
"Why do you ask?" I say carefully, then take another sip of the whiskey for fortification.
"Why do you ask why I ask?" she asks with a mischievous grin. She scoots a little closer to me on the couch and gives me a hopeful look. "What are you hiding from me, Leary Michaels?"
What the hell is going on here? She has to know about Reeve to be pushing me like this.
I decide to show the moxie that Midge insisted I find within myself all those years ago. Narrowing my eyes at her, I ask pointedly, "Okay, what's going on here? Why the interest in my love life?"
Midge blinks at me in surprise, and then her face bursts into a smile. She scoots closer to me on the couch and slaps at my arm. "Okay, fine. You got me. I'm dying to know about you and Ford."
"Me and Ford?" I ask stupidly.
"Yes. There's something between you two. I've known it for years. I mean, hell, why do you think I assigned him as your mentor? I knew he'd teach you to be a brilliant litigator and an even better seductress."
Sometimes this woman is too frightening in her foresight.
I go ahead and decide to be honest, since there's no reason to lie. "He's done both well, Midge. But there's nothing between us other than friendship."
The smile drops from her face, and her brow furrows in confusion as her gaze drops to her lap. "I don't understand. I talked to Ford the other day, and I just thought . . ."
"What did Ford say to make you think something was there?" I ask carefully, because I can't imagine him ever saying something to Midge about our relationship--or lack thereof right now.
"Nothing, really. Maybe I misunderstood," she says distractedly.
"Misunderstood what?" I prompt.
"It's just, we were talking the other day on the phone, and I asked him about the charity event, and he said he went with you. I've known Ford a lot longer than you and had no qualms asking him if there was something going on. He quickly denied it. So quickly, in fact, I was sure he was hiding something. I just assumed, but I guess I was wrong."
"You're wrong," I assure her. "Ford and I have had . . . um . . . relations in the past, but it was a no-strings involvement. It's truly a good friendship."
At least I hope it's still a friendship. I have no clue, because he won't sit down two minutes with me so I can find out.
"Oh, well," she says with another bright smile. "You're still too young and ambitious to get tied down, anyway."
Normally, I would agree with that statement from Midge, but for the first time in my adult life, I actually long to be tied to someone like Reeve. We're so perfectly matched in so many ways that I find myself yearning for his company, both in and out of the bedroom. This is a complete about-face in my philosophy on life and love.
Sadly, I don't have anyone to discuss these feelings with. Ford is definitely out, and he's the only person I would consider asking to talk this through with me.
Except maybe . . .
"There is someone, actually," I blurt out.
"Oh, do tell," Midge says excitedly, and now I understand. Midge has no girlfriends, either. She spends her time locked in her office, crusading for people's rights, and she's made it so much of her life that she's never left room for anything else.
Because I know her to be a very private person, and because I also know that she'll find no fault in the way I first got involved with Reeve, I decide to lay it all out for her.
And I don't pull any punches.
"I'm involved with the defense attorney in the LaPietra case. We've been sleeping together for a few weeks now."
Midge's eyes flare with shock but absolutely no censure. In fact, she's smiling deviously when she says, "You're kidding me."
"Not kidding." I tell her about my striptease in the elevator. She cackles gleefully. I tell her about him pulling my skirt up in the hallway, and she dramatically fans herself. I don't tell her the details of our sexual relationship, but I tell her that the night of the charity event was when I gave in and that we've been going at it pretty strong since then.
When I finish, Midge just shakes her head with a smirk. "My dear, dear Leary. You're turning out better than I ever hoped for. You remind me of . . . well, me."
"I take that as a compliment," I say with a grin. And then, because my taste buds are starting to go numb, I take another delicate sip of the whiskey.
Midge leans back into the couch and looks at me appraisingly. "So, is it just sex? Or is there something more?"
I shrug and lower my gaze to the glass. Running my finger down the diamond cuts on the bottom of the glass, I say, "I don't know. I wanted it to just be sex, but I think we're surpassing that."
"A love story brewing," Midge says and almost bounces on the cushion with excitement.
I cock an eyebrow at her.
"What?" she exclaims and then downs the rest of her whiskey. Standing up from the couch, she walks to her minibar, speaking at me over her shoulder. "I'm a romantic, believe it or not."
"It's hard to believe," I say truthfully. "You aren't involved in a relationship."
"No," she says sadly, "I'm not. I lost my one true love when Grant died, and I've never found anyone since. Of course, I don't expect to find love boning twenty-something-year-old law clerks, but it works for me for now."
I snicker, and I need to remember to tell Ford that this particular rumor--of the millions swirling around about dear, reclusive Midge--is true.
After pouring another drink, she comes back to sit on the couch. "The point is, please don't let any of the things I've taught you, any of the things I expect out of you, dissuade you from a relationship. When I tell you to use your female powers of persuasion to get ahead in the legal game, it doesn't mean I want you to sleep with every Tom, Dick, and Harry out there. It merely means you should be cognizant of all of your gifts and use them as you can."
"Well, I appreciate the sentiment, but I can assure you the only opponent I've ever slept with has been Reeve."
"And that right there should tell you something," Midge points out. "This is definitely more than just sex."
"Maybe," I hedge, but I don't allow myself to fully give in to that possibility. Reeve and I still have a very volatile case to get through. "We'll see. I need to just make it through Jenna's case before I can really explore what we have."
"Want my advice?" she asks, a twinkle in her eye, and I have to laugh because she's clearly enjoying this.
"Sure."
"Don't wait to explore those feelings. Fuck the case. That has nothing to do with you and Reeve. Open up and take a chance."
"But what if things get nasty? So far, we've worked well in opposition. Well, at least after that first motion. But still . . . this has all been the beginnings of the case. It won't be so nice during the trial--not when I have to get rough with his client and the experts."
"He's a big boy. He can handle it," Midge says with confidence.
"And what makes you so sure of that?"
"Because look what happened when you tore his client up in the deposition. He respected you for it. He's going to be able to do his job without taking advantage of the personal relationship, and you'll do the same, I'm sure."
Of course I'll do the same. I have no desire to use my sexual sway with Reeve to get me further in this case. I don't need it. But
I am concerned that I might not be able to keep my personal feelings out of the way when things start to get nasty.
And they will get nasty. Medical malpractice trials are brutal, with both sides bare-knuckle brawling. There's too much money at risk not to go all-in. It will be Reeve's job to attack Jenna. It will be my job to attack Dr. Summerland.
Will we be able to open ourselves up to sex, emotion, and genuine affection after a hard day of trying to tear each other down?
It seems impossible to me, but not enough of a mountain that I'm not willing to try to climb it.
And yeah . . . I still want to climb Reeve Holloway.
CHAPTER 12
REEVE
Chad Pounds, the managing partner of Battle Carnes, drones on and on, reporting on the final numbers for the previous quarter. He makes all of the partners and associate attorneys jam into a conference room three times too small to hold all of us at the table and insists on disclosing the income that each person brought into the firm's coffers.
This serves two functions. First, it praises and hopefully encourages those top earners to work harder, causing their already inflated egos to swell and puff some more. Big egos and overinflated senses of self are what drive money.
Or so the partners seem to think.
The second thing it accomplishes is to shame and humiliate the lower earners. Having their huge egos dinged and battered is a surefire way to get them motivated so they'll earn more.
Or so the partners seem to think.
I think it's all horseshit, so I tend to tune Chad out when he gets on his high horse. My earnings fall near the top, but that's because, based on my experience, I tend to get the larger cases that earn more money. Simple mathematics, really, so I keep my ego--which is healthy enough--firmly encased and untouched.
While Chad focuses his gaze on one of the associates, Teddy Baker, who immediately shrinks because he didn't have that great a quarter, my mind turns to more pleasant things.
Mainly Leary Michaels.
And fucking Leary.
And holding her at night.
And laughing with her.
And cooking her dinner and feeding it to her in bed.
And playing with her and my toys.
Okay, need to think of something else or I'll be sporting an embarrassing boner in front of my peers.
But damn, she's the perfect woman. It's as if God created her just for me. So perfect, in fact, for the first time in my adult life I feel like getting religious and praying to the Big Guy in gratitude.
I've seen Leary every night for the past two weeks, with the exception of one night when she had to work late to prepare for a deposition. I tried to talk her into coming over to my house to work there, but she was having none of it. In fact, her exact words were, "Seriously, Reeve. Do you honestly think I'd get any work done with you in the same room with me?"
Christ, I loved hearing that.
Loved hearing how much she enjoyed me and my company and my dick.
Early on in our relationship, we easily gave in to the realization that being fuck buddies would best be served by fucking on a daily basis when possible. But thereafter, our relationship sort of morphed and settled into something more.
We went out to dinner. She helped me give Mr. Chico Taco a bath, and we laughed ourselves silly when he bounded out of the tub and ran crazy through the house, throwing soap everywhere. We call each other during the day just to chat, and once she breathily told me that she couldn't wait to see me that night, and there was such feeling in it, my heart squeezed. I texted her a dirty joke, and she texted me back a picture of her boobs beautifully squeezed into a black lace bra with one hand pinching a nipple through the material.
I had to lock my office door and jack off to the picture, I was so aroused.
Yes, there's no doubt. We're not just fuck buddies. We're in a relationship. It's not something we've admitted to each other, and Leary still teases me about Vanessa and that she could be my fuck buddy, too, if I wanted. I didn't like hearing that, so I tied her facedown on my bed and spanked the shit out of her, then I fucked her hard. That didn't dissuade Leary from making that comment again, and in hindsight, I now realize that she enjoyed getting spanked so much that she brings Vanessa up quite a bit on purpose.
The one thing I haven't been able to do is get close to Leary. She knows quite a bit about me, as we've spent long nights talking while we lie exhausted in bed after some amazing sex. She knows about my childhood in Vermont, my crazy days of undergrad at Penn State, and my slightly less crazy days at Harvard Law School. She knows about my law school mate and best friend, Cal Carson, who practices in New York, and she knows my parents are still happily married and living in an old farmhouse in the valley of the Green Mountains. I've told her my dreams and aspirations as an attorney, and I even almost grew a vagina by telling her that I adopted Mr. Chico Taco because I was lonely and it seemed easier than having a girlfriend.
Leary knows a lot about me, and yes, I've come to know a little about her. While I paint vivid details of my life, I tend to get fade-to-black images from her. I know she grew up poor and put herself through college and law school. Her mom lives in eastern North Carolina, but she doesn't get to see her often because of her crazy work schedule. I asked about her father once, and she simply said she never knew him and then the conversation was closed.
Leary definitely keeps her private life private, and while I think we're developing a deeper relationship, the one thing I don't know is if Leary feels the same shift of the tides. It's not something we've discussed, but I do intend to bring it up at some point.
The main problem in our relationship is the LaPietra case. True to our word, we leave the case out of the bedroom. I've never brought up her relationship with Jenna again, and she's never spoken a word to me about it. I'm dying to know more, though, because when it boils right down to it, Leary has her heart invested in this case, and I am bound and determined to steal victory from her. This, in my opinion, spells disaster for us down the road--a thought that has me slightly nauseated at times.
The trial date is less than a month away, and as it looms closer, I feel like there's a giant bomb ticking down, moving us closer and closer to what I'm thinking could be the end of us.
And that is not something I want.
My thoughts are interrupted when Chad announces the meeting is over and the attorneys start pouring out of the stuffy conference room. When I move to the door, Chad calls out, "Reeve . . . stay a minute. We want to talk to you about the LaPietra case."
I nod and take one of the vacated chairs at the end of the table and wait for the room to clear.
When everyone is gone, Chad moves down closer to me, and the three litigation partners, Harry Bent, Lacy Carnes, and Gill Kratzenburg, do the same.
"The LaPietra trial is set for next month and we wanted to get an update on it, see how you think it's going," Chad says.
"And do you think it will settle?" Gill asks. "Obviously you know it will be better for us if it doesn't settle but goes all the way."
Of course I know that, I think drily. An early settlement means no more billable hours from this case. Pushing toward a full-blown trial means more riches for Battle Carnes's coffers. I have to suppress the urge to roll my eyes. It's the one thing that bothers me about this law firm--the quest for justice often falls prey to greed, but there's not a damn thing I can do about it. I'm a paid employee and I do what I'm told.
"We have mediation set next week," I tell the partners. "I think Summerland should put an offer on the table. The plaintiff, Jenna LaPietra, makes a sympathetic witness, and Dr. Summerland comes off too arrogant."
Lacy Carnes snorts. "She's a stripper, for God's sake. How sympathetic can she be? No jury is going to award her money."
"She's a mother with a severely autistic child who strips to earn money to care for him, and now can't do that because her breasts are horrifically mangled," I say calmly. "I think that's pretty sympathetic."
"Has the investigator found anything else we can use?" Lacy asks, and my heart drops and thuds in my stomach.
I'd been dreading this question, and dreading even more the answer I have to give, as the investigator we hired has indeed found something that he sent me just yesterday. I waited to share it with TransBenefit because I was hoping I could find some legal research that would prevent the evidence from coming in.
And with professional guilt, I realize I was doing that because I knew this was going to hurt Jenna LaPietra's case, and in turn, I knew it was going to really hurt Leary.
"I just got his report yesterday," I say after clearing my throat. "There is something we can use."
All four partners lean forward with evil gleams in their eyes, and in that moment, I already start to mourn the loss of Leary. Because with this information, there's no doubt I'm probably going to lose her.
"The investigator found three former employees who knew of the prostitution that was going on inside the club. They quit because they didn't want any part of it. They'll all testify that Jenna LaPietra sold her body for money."
"Do they have actual knowledge?" Chad asks quickly.
"Her admission," I say with another drop in my stomach.
"Excellent," Lacy says with a lecherous grin. "Admission of a party opponent gets it past hearsay. I'd say that was money well spent on the investigator."
Yes, this is the really bad news. Overhearing someone say something does not mean it can come into evidence. It's generally prohibited as hearsay. However, there's an exception to that rule if an opponent in a case makes a statement that can be used as evidence against them.
These witnesses' testimonies are coming into evidence.
"Use it," Gill commands.
I nod in acquiescence because I can't say no. I can't say no because not only is my boss giving me a direct order, but my oath as an attorney demands that I represent my clients to the best of my ability, which means using all available weapons in my arsenal.
"I'll amend our discovery answers to provide the witnesses to opposing counsel," I say, and then hold my breath to see what they'll do.
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