“How far’d he get?”
“Far-ish. Got endorsed by the former White House press secretary, some senators and local officials. Mysteriously dropped out of the race due to family issues four months before elections. Had a very pretty, very young, very not-his-wife campaign manager who now lives in another state.”
Getting warmer . . .
“Do we believe the family-issue excuse?” I stroked my chin.
“Do we believe Santa slides down chimneys and still manages to be jolly all night?” Claire tilted her head, pouting.
Picking up my Sharpie again, I tapped it against my desk, mulling this over. My instincts told me it was who I thought it was, and my instincts were never wrong. Which technically meant I shouldn’t touch this case with a ten-foot pole. I was familiar with the key players and held a grudge against the defendant.
But should and could were two different creatures, and they didn’t always get on well.
Claire launched into all the reasons why I should accept this walk-in like I was some C-grade ambulance chaser until I held up a hand to stop her.
“Tell me about the plaintiff.”
Funny, how admirable my impulse control was in every other area in life—women, diet, exercise, ego—until it came down to one family. Riggs was wrong. Not about the demons part. I had plenty of them. But I knew exactly where they’d lead me—to this man’s doorstep.
Claire’s blush deepened as she relished my eyes on her. I made a mental note to screw her senseless tonight for that sultry look.
“Reliable, trustworthy, and forthcoming. I did get the sense that she is lawyer shopping. It’s going to be a big case.”
“Give me five minutes.”
Claire headed for the door, then stopped. “Hey, there’s a new Burmese restaurant opening in SoHo tonight . . .”
She left the sentence hanging. I shook my head. “Remember, Claire. No outside relationship.” That was our agreement.
She tossed her hair with a huff. “What can I say? I tried.”
Ten minutes later, I was sitting in front of Amanda Gispen, CPA.
Claire was right. Ms. Gispen was the perfect victim. If this case went to trial, the jury would likely be taken with her. She was educated without coming off as condescending, middle aged, soft spoken, attractive without being sexy, clad head to toe in St. John. Her carefully highlighted hair was pinned back, her brown eyes intelligent but not shrewd.
When I entered the conference room Claire had made her wait in, she rose from her seat like I was a judge, offering me a respectful bow.
“Mr. Miller, thank you for making the time. I’m sorry for showing up unannounced.”
No, she wasn’t. She could’ve tried to book an appointment. The fact that she hadn’t, that she’d honestly believed I’d see her, made me curious.
I sat opposite to her, sprawling over a Wegner swivel chair, my latest Christmas splurge. Obscene luxuries were a constant in my life. I had no family to shop for. The swivel chair was supposed to stay in my office, but Claire, who very much enjoyed taking liberties and straddling invisible scarlet lines, sometimes wheeled it into conference rooms and used it as a sign of our friendship and intimacy. Everyone else knew they could never get away with such a thing.
“Why me, Ms. Gispen?” I cut straight to the chase.
“Please, call me Amanda. They say you’re the best in the business.”
“Define they.”
“Every employment attorney I’ve visited the past couple weeks.”
“Word to the wise, Amanda—don’t believe lawyers, myself included. Who’d you end up hiring?”
When dealing with a sexual harassment lawsuit, I always advised my clients to get an employment attorney before making a move. I cared who I was going to work alongside with. Lawyers in New York were a dime a dozen, and most were about as reliable as the E subway line when it snowed.
“Tiffany D’Oralio.” She smoothed away invisible wrinkles from her dress.
Not bad. Not cheap either. Amanda Gispen clearly meant business.
“I know the man who wronged me is going to be armed with a convoy of the best lawyers in town, and you are known as the most ruthless litigator in your field. You were my first call.”
“Technically, I was your first drop-in. Now that we’ve officially met, I assume you think I won’t be able to represent your former boss.”
She smiled hesitantly. “If you knew that, why did you agree to meet me?”
Because I would rather endure a long, meticulous death being thrashed by a million plastic spoons than represent the piece of flaming crap you are going after.
Running my gaze along the planes of her face, I decided I respected Amanda Gispen. Pushy was my love language, assertiveness my favorite word. Plus, if my hunch was right, we indeed had a mutual enemy to take down, which made us both allies and fast friends.
“I gather your former boss knows you are seeking legal action.” I picked up a stress ball I kept in the conference room, rolling it in my fist.
“Correct.”
Shame. The element of surprise was half the fun.
“Elaborate.”
“The incident that brought me here occurred two weeks ago, but there were telltale signs before it.”
“What happened?”
“I threw my drink in his face after he’d invited me to play strip poker in his private jet on our way back from a meeting in Fairbanks. He grabbed me by the arms and kissed me against my will. I stumbled and hit my back. When I saw he was advancing toward me again, I raised my hand to slap him, but then the flight attendant barged in with refreshments. She’d asked if we needed anything really loudly. I think she knew. The minute we landed, he fired me. Said I wasn’t a team player. Accused me of giving him mixed signals. That’s after twenty-five years of employment. I told him I’d sue him. That would be a dead giveaway, I’m afraid.”