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.”
Lacy harrumphs but Gill backs me . . . somewhat. “Stripping is legal, Lacy. I don’t see that having enough power to turn the jury against her.”
“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.