Love Proof (Laws of Attraction)

Thirty

Sarah’s phone rang far too early. She had retrieved it from her jacket some time during the night and plugged into the outlet beside Joe’s bed. Now she regretted not letting the battery die.

“What,” she answered irritably. She saw who it was on her display.

“Morning, killer. They want a meeting with you as soon as possible. I volunteered to wake you up.”

“Mickey . . . ” Sarah batted away Joe’s hand, which was already creeping up her torso. “I got in late. I need sleep.”

“Then you shouldn’t send out e-mails with the tantalizing subject line of ‘How We Will Win Our Case.’ People get excited.”

Sarah pressed the phone closer to her ear. She wasn’t sure if Joe could hear Mickey’s side of the conversation.

“I’ll come in this afternoon,” Sarah said. “I’m too beat.”

“If by this afternoon you mean nine o’clock this morning, then that should be fine.”

“Mickey.”

“Sarah. You’re doing good work—Calvin’s impressed. So tell whoever’s there to get off of you so you can come in and show off.”

“No one’s here,” Sarah said, squeezing Joe’s fingers to keep them from straying higher. Then she gave him a light elbow in the chest to get him to knock it off.

“See you in two hours,” Mickey said.

She groaned. “Yeah.”

Then she hung up and burrowed deeper into Joe’s arms.

“Mickey, huh?” he asked. “He still after you?”

“Only in the vaguest of ways. But he got me this job, so . . . ” Sarah yawned and spread her hands on top of Joe’s. “ . . . if you’re enjoying feeling my breasts right now, you have him to thank.”

Joe kissed the back of her neck. “I’ll send him some champagne.”

He got out of bed just when Sarah was looking forward to falling asleep with him again.

“Want some coffee?” he said.

“I don’t, but yes. Really strong, please.”

Sarah fought reality as long as she could, but had to pry open her eyes once Joe returned with mugs for both of them and climbed back into bed. Sarah propped up her pillow next to him, and draped her leg over his while they drank.

“Now for the legal issue,” she said, sighing a little with the effort of it.

It had been easier to push aside when it was just sex. Or just sex and maybe a little more.

But since last night she had no way of rationalizing anymore why it might be all right—an exception to the ethical rule—for her to continue an intimate personal relationship with her opposing counsel.

“Let’s lay out the options,” Sarah said, trying to sound professional and lawyerly while lounging naked in her opponent’s bed. “I tell Calvin, you tell whoever your boss is, we both get fired.”

“Option A,” Joe said.

“Option B,” Sarah continued, “one of us withdraws from the case and frees the other one to continue.” She took another sip of blacker than black coffee—Joe really had taken her at her word and made it strong enough that she could feel it searing through her bloodstream—and waited for him to say something.

“Let’s . . . hold off a while longer,” he said.

“How much longer? Joe, we could get into serious trouble—”

“We’ll be careful,” he said. He set down his coffee and looped his arms around her waist. “I don’t want to talk shop right now. You and I have plenty of work to do today—we can be lawyers later. Right now we’re off duty.”

He made a persuasive case, especially since one of his hands was currently threading between her thighs.

“Okay, but we need to talk about it,” she insisted as she set her mug on the bedside table and slid back to horizontal. “Tonight, all right?”

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

“Joe, focus . . . ”

“I am focusing,” he murmured as his hands and lips continued to explore.

They would talk about it that night, Sarah promised herself. Make a decision about what to do.

But for the moment she had to admit that Joe’s topic of focus was a lot more enjoyable than hers.

***

“Welcome back to civilization,” Mickey said, leading her toward the conference room. “This is what we call an ‘office.’ And those are lawyers,” he said, pointing to the various people working there on a Saturday morning. “They’re not bell hops, so don’t try to tip them.”

Sarah yawned.

“Come on, now, killer,” Mickey said. “Look sharp. Today’s a big day for Sarah Henley.”

“Why’s that?”

He grinned. “You’ll see.”

He pushed open the heavy door of the conference room and held it for Sarah to pass. There were already four people in there: Calvin and the three other lawyers Sarah had included on her recent e-mail.

Calvin stood up and shook her hand. “Sarah, nice work. We decided we wanted to brainstorm this morning, since you’re probably leaving again tomorrow.”

“I am,” she said.

“Where to?” Calvin asked.

“Portland. Then Seattle, then . . . somewhere.” She wished she felt more alert, and knew she probably should have grabbed another hour of sleep before she came in, but she couldn’t say she regretted how she spent her time.

“So, walk us through it,” Calvin said. “You noticed a pattern . . . ”

“Right,” Sarah said, stifling another yawn. “All the defects are from a particular five-month span of time. Any of the hair irons bought before or after that seem fine, but from September to January two years ago, the products suddenly started catching fire.”

“You think it’s someone else’s parts,” Calvin said.

“I do,” Sarah said. “If you look at the documents Hector sent me,” she said, indicating one of the young associates in the room, “you’ll see all the internal memoranda about Mason Manufacturing’s labor problems. They finally had to notify their customers—including Atheena—that they wouldn’t be able to deliver their orders on time. When you compare all the various timelines, you’ll see there’s a gap when Mason fell behind by about a hundred thousand units. I’m willing to bet Atheena went somewhere else during that period of time, and found another supplier they’re not telling anyone about.”

“Why not?” Mickey asked. He wasn’t one of the attorneys working on the case, so Sarah wasn’t sure why he had been included in the meeting, but she filled him in anyway.

“Atheena makes a big deal about how their hair iron is ‘Made in America, with Genuine American Parts,’” she said. “What if they decided they needed to buy parts from say, China, to keep production moving? Not something they’d like to get out—especially if that part is catching people’s hair on fire.”

“Can we prove it?” Calvin asked.

“I asked Jeffrey,” she said, indicating another one of the associates, “to send out requests for production of documents. They’re due in a few weeks, so we’ll see what’s in there.”

“Can we prove it otherwise?” Calvin asked. “Just in case the paperwork mysteriously disappears?”

“It’s math,” Sarah said. “When you look at Mason’s shipping schedule, you can see how long it took from the time Atheena received the part, to the time they put the finished product on sale. We can track it from the serial numbers—Mason has those, even if Atheena destroys their records. Then it’s just a matter of comparing the timelines, and finding the five-month gap in the schedule. From what I’ve seen, the numbers match up perfectly. Those aren’t our parts.”

Calvin sat back in his chair and folded his hands over his stomach. Then he smiled.

“And you did all this while you were on the road,” he said.

“Told you,” Mickey said, grinning with a kind of pride.

“Sarah, I have good news and even better news,” Calvin said. “I didn’t just bring you in here to discuss your memo—I already got the gist of it when I read it last night. I brought you here because it’s time you joined us.”

Sarah told herself to remain calm. To keep her face perfectly expressionless.

“Join you, how?” she asked.

“We’re bringing you in,” Calvin said. “In from Portland or wherever you were going next, and into the firm, if you accept.”

“Are you . . . offering me a permanent job?”

“That,” Calvin said, “and I’d also like you to take a more active role in this case. If we’re going to run with this defense—and I don’t see why not—I’d like you to direct it and see it through. Handle all the discovery, the motions, the oral arguments—all of it.”

Sarah felt too shocked to be pleased, but she knew the pleasure would come. In the meantime, she glanced at the faces of the three other associates working on the case, trying to gauge their reaction to Calvin’s announcement. None of them seemed particularly happy to have been passed over.

“What do you say?” Calvin asked.

“I say yes, of course,” Sarah answered, and finally allowed herself a smile. Mickey caught her eye and winked at her. Obviously he knew about Calvin’s plan.

“But . . . what about all the depositions?” Sarah asked. “I still have a full schedule.”

“Bingham can take them over,” Calvin said, nodding toward the associate Sarah knew was the most junior. “Although I think it’s going to be a while before he has to go out.”

It took Sarah a moment to process what Calvin just said. But then she asked, “Why would it be a while? We’re scheduled almost until Christmas. Then we start up again in January.”

“Nobody’s going to care about depositions pretty soon. Tell her, Mickey,” Calvin said.

Mickey gave her a look filled with wicked anticipation. “I have a friend who works at the Justice Department,” he said. “We were having drinks the other night, and he let slip he’s working on a big case involving another dirty L.A. law firm.”

Calvin interrupted. “It’s because of that guy Fitzgerald in the U.S. Attorney’s Office—he’s the one who went after your firm, too,” he told Sarah. “He has a hard-on for anyone in this town he thinks is making too much money.”

“That leaves me out,” Mickey said.

Calvin ignored him.

“Anyway,” Mickey went on, “they’re about to do the perp walk again, parading a bunch of lawyers in handcuffs past the media. It’s Fitzgerald’s early Christmas present to himself. So I’m guessing your depositions are about to be the last thing on people’s minds for a while.”

It was too good to be true, Sarah thought. Was Chapman’s firm going down? She wondered if Chapman himself would be one of the lawyers hauled off. She disliked the man—sorely—but she wouldn’t exactly wish this on him. Mickey and Calvin might think it was entertaining, but Sarah had seen for herself what it was like to be caught up in the turmoil. She almost felt sorry for the man.

“So,” Mickey finished triumphantly, “bad news for your old buddy Burke.”

Sarah knew she couldn’t have heard him right.

“Burke?” she repeated.

“Yes, sirree,” Mickey said.

“But . . . why?” Sarah could feel the blood rushing to her head, could even hear it pounding in her ears. This couldn’t be what was happening—not now.

“Seems the lawyers over there have been paying people to be professional plaintiffs in their class action suits,” Mickey explained. “Strictly no-no, illegal. Burke’s firm fronts the money for them to buy stock in a tech company, then of course the stock prices go up and down the way they always do with the techs, and as soon as they go down, boom, lawsuit. I guess they’ve filed something like twenty of them in the last three or four years. And finally someone in Fitzgerald’s office noticed that a few of the plaintiffs were repeaters.”

“But who says Burke’s firm is paying them?” Sarah asked. She wasn’t going to just buy Mickey’s story—especially since he was obviously having such a great time telling it. She needed facts, not just innuendo fueled by some leftover animosity Mickey might feel toward Joe.

“Apparently somebody couldn’t keep a secret,” Mickey said. “Fitzgerald caught wind of it, and now he’s ready to hand down indictments any day. Could even be next week.”

“Next week?” Sarah repeated, still feeling like she was two miles behind, struggling to catch up with everything she was hearing. “But . . . Burke . . . you don’t think he was involved personally, do you?”

Mickey smiled. “Had to be. He was one of the lawyers on the most recent case.”

No, Sarah thought. NO. It wasn’t possible. Burke wouldn’t do that—would he? That wasn’t the man she knew.

But maybe that was the point. Maybe she didn’t know him at all.

“So,” Calvin said, moving straight ahead with business while Sarah still reeled from the personal, “what all this means is the plaintiffs will probably be looking for new attorneys before the end of the year. Which buys us some time. I doubt anyone will be worried about taking depositions in Kalamazoo for a while, so Sarah, that’s why I want you to hammer this defense now, go out hard against Atheena, and get us dismissed from the case before anyone on the plaintiff’s side knows what happened.”

Sarah nodded dully. What Calvin said made logical, strategic sense, and she would have loved the discussion if not for the fact that right now her insides felt like glue.

“So go ahead and keep to the schedule for now,” Calvin said. “No need to raise any suspicions. But be ready any minute to come home and start working on the case from here. Hell, they might even indict everybody Monday morning—you could be back by the afternoon.”

Monday morning . . .

Calvin stood up and reached out his hand. “Welcome to the firm, Sarah. Glad to have you. Assuming, that is, you accept.”

Sarah nodded. Then she remembered she should probably speak. “I accept. Thank you. I appreciate the vote of confidence.” She forced her mouth into a semblance of a smile.

“None of these scholars could come up with what you did,” Calvin said, indicating the other associates still sitting there. Sarah could feel the resentment wafting off of them. “And you did it while spinning plates and riding a unicycle. Can’t wait to see what you do when you get to stay put in one place, with a proper office and a staff. Mickey did right in recommending you.”

Sarah smiled again, for Mickey’s sake. Even though right at the moment she felt very little affection for the man. Mickey had enjoyed himself far too much. Although if what he said about Joe was true, then maybe he had every right.

Mickey walked her out.

“Buy you lunch?”

“No, thanks,” Sarah said, trying to remain neutral toward him, trying not to bolt for the exit and get away from him and everyone else as fast as she could. She needed to think. To process. To sit somewhere alone and let it all hit her again at a pace she might control.

“Amazing, huh?” Mickey asked. “How greedy some people get. I didn’t take Joe for one of those, but you never know, huh?”

“Nope, you never do,” Sarah said. Her mouth felt dry, but she could feel the sweat still sticky on her skin. “Listen, Mickey, I really appreciate you getting me this job. It’s turned out much better than I ever hoped.” She wondered if it sounded as false to his ears as it sounded to hers, but from his smile, she guessed not.

He kissed her on the cheek. “Any time, gorgeous. Happy to be of service.”

He stood too close to her, too long, until finally Sarah took a step back. “Thanks,” she said, aiming now for the door. “I’ll see you later.”

“You did good, Sarah,” Mickey called after her.

She waved without turning around.

Make it to the car, make it to the car . . .

Then she had to talk herself through keeping it together while she started up the Saturn and drove out of the parking lot.

Then, and only then—

Sarah pulled off at the first opportunity, shut off the car, and then leaned forward and buried her head inside her arms. Her breath came out in heaves, almost like vomiting again, but this time just pressure and force and nothing but pain and anger behind it.

Joe. You stupid, greedy, idiot, bastard, lying, cheating—WHY? Why now?

But why not now? she thought. He had no idea she was coming back. No idea she might even consider falling in love with him again. No idea he was about to get indicted, lose his law license, probably go to prison—

While Sarah once again had to pick herself up from the ground, wipe off the blood, and force herself to keep moving. Force herself to forget him. Force herself to stop believing they were ever meant to be together.

“Joe,” she whispered into the car. “We could have had it this time. Why did you have to ruin everything?”