“So you’re . . .”
“Ms. Gispen’s attorney, correct,” Christian finished for me, removing his peacoat, his gray five-piece suit on full display.
The doors slid open, as if on cue. Christian motioned for me to get out first, his manners impeccable, his grin insufferable. It was both bizarre and amazing, how he’d turned from the potential father of my hypothetical children to the big, bad wolf in less than sixty seconds.
“Third door on the right, Ms. Roth. I’ll be there in just a minute.”
“Can’t wait.” I smiled sweetly.
I let my legs carry me to my destination, not daring to look back as I gathered my wits. I felt Christian’s smoky gaze the entire time, prickling the back of my neck. Assessing, calculating, scheming.
This man, I knew, was going to take every weakness I’d show him and use it to his advantage.
One–zero to the home team.
“Thank you so much for taking the time to be here, sweetheart. I know how busy your day is, and I’m, well . . . embarrassed.” Dad squeezed my hand as I took my seat next to him. We sat at the oval desk at Cromwell & Traurig’s conference room. The lantern-in-the-sky ceilings, ceremonial staircases, rose-gold-veined Italian marble, and brass penholders told me Amanda Gispen was not playing around. She’d probably sold a few internal organs for the pleasure of being represented by Mr. Miller.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Dad.” I rubbed my thumb across his outer palm. “A couple of hours from now, all of this will be ancient history, and we can go back to our day. I hate that you have to deal with this.”
“It’s a part of the job,” he sighed.
Terrance and Louie, Dad’s lawyers, sat to his right side, already making notes in their legal pads. They talked animatedly between themselves, paying us no attention. When all this had started, they’d explained that a complaint had been filed with the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission against my father. Apparently this mediation was part of the EEOC’s conciliation process.
The mediator, a stern, silver-haired woman in a black dress and white Peter Pan collar, was typing away at her laptop, already waiting for the plaintiff and her team.
A petite, attractive woman in a knitted beige dress ambled into the room clutching an iPad and a clipboard, accompanied by a PA who balanced a tray full of beverages. The fashionable blonde introduced herself as Claire Lesavoy, a junior associate. By the way she completely ignored my existence, I gathered Christian had yet to fill her in about my slip of the tongue. I wondered if he filled her with anything else and hated myself that I even cared. He was a jerk. She could have him.
“What’s the holdup?” Terrance, who had the wrinkly face of an armadillo, regarded Claire like she herself was responsible for the delay. “Your client is running thirty-five minutes late.”
“I believe Mr. Miller is ironing out the kinks with Ms. Gispen ahead of the meeting. Shouldn’t take long now.” Claire smiled brilliantly, enjoying Terrance’s obvious impatience. She took a seat in front of us. Upon a closer inspection I decided Christian certainly fraternized with this staff. She was magazine beautiful.
Christian and Amanda Gispen walked in fifteen minutes later. By then, the meeting was running almost an hour late. I glanced at the time on my phone. Jillian and I had an appointment with a potential client in Brooklyn in less than two hours. Between the rain and traffic, there was no way I was going to make it on time.
“Apologies for the delay. Ms. Gispen and I had to go over the premediation statements one more time.” Christian’s smirk was so dazzling, so good natured, there was absolutely zero chance the man wasn’t in need of deep, lengthy psychological treatment. Who took such pleasure in dealing with a sexual harassment case? Even a bogus one? A lawyer. That was who. My father had warned me about them. Lawyers, not psychopaths—though both should be avoided, if possible. As someone who’d had to deal with plenty of lawyers in his lifetime, he had nothing but bad things to say about them. Conrad Roth was of the school that believed the fine line running between lawyers and criminals was opportunity and a scholarship. He detested lawyers with a passion. I was quickly coming to understand why.
“That’s absolutely fine, Christian, my dear.” The mediator patted his arm warmly. Well, crap. He already had the advantage of being well loved and respected. Amanda Gispen and Claire Lesavoy were also ogling him adoringly.
Christian sat directly in front of me. I kept my eyes on Amanda, whom I’d known my entire life. Blinking in disbelief, I tried to reconcile the person I’d grown up with and the woman in front of me. It was hard to digest that she was the lady who’d slipped cookies to my kid self when I’d hidden behind her desk on days Dad had taken me to work. She was the one who’d given me a book about the birds and the bees when I was twelve because my mother had treated my sexuality like a unicorn that would never arrive. The very same person sitting here, demanding Dad pay for something he hadn’t done.
The mediator began with a short presentation of what could be expected during the process. I chanced a glance at Dad, who looked pale and a little seasick. My father had always been larger than life. Seeing him like this was shattering. When we’d first gotten the call about Amanda taking legal action, my mother’s response had been odd, to say the least. I’d expected door slamming, shouts, and a theatrical production. Instead, she’d received the news with quiet resignation. She’d refused to discuss the subject again and, of course, booked a two-week retreat in the Bahamas to get away from it all. She’d never really been a partner to him or a mother to me.
Dad needed me. Now more than ever.
I slipped my hand in his under the desk and pressed.
“I got you,” I whispered.
When I looked back ahead, I noticed Christian watching our exchange, his jaw twitching.
What the hell is his problem now?