I sent her a text around 10:00 p.m. Still working?
Her response was immediate. Yup. Hey. What page of the deposition of Dr. Summerland did he admit that he pulled a double on-call shift before Jenna’s surgery?
I had to laugh before I responded. I’m not helping you prepare your case against me. Bad girl.
She wrote me back a smiley face but nothing more.
I went back to work, finishing up a few notes on my PowerPoint presentation for the mediation. I played around with font sizes and tweaked a few sentences. But something started niggling at me.
Why was Leary focused on Dr. Summerland’s on-call shifts before the surgery? I mean, all doctors worked hard hours, went with little sleep. Even surgeons.
Clearly she was searching for some type of angle, and I guessed she was going to try to attack him at trial on not being fresh enough to do the surgery. But she needed more than just circumstantial evidence that he might have been too tired after the on-call shifts. I didn’t remember her asking him any actual detailed questions about his stamina during his deposition, so maybe she’d found something else.
I put aside my mediation materials and pulled out a binder that held all of Dr. Summerland’s surgical records, including the hospital nursing notes. I started flipping through them again. I read everything, word for word, yet nothing jumped out at me.
But then I saw it.
A small, barely legible note from one of the nurses: 12:18 p.m. Dr. S and R.V. step out.
Then another note. 12:32 p.m. Dr. S back. Surg in progress.
It was a bit odd. Could be nothing. I mean, sometimes doctors needed a break. As long as the anesthesiologist stayed in the operating room, there’s nothing inherently wrong with that.
But what if it did mean something? What if Leary found out something?
I flipped through the notes and read all of the nurses’ names that were involved in pre- and post-op, as well as the surgical nurses. R.V. was Rhonda Valasquez, one of the surgical nurses. I put a task on my calendar to try to interview these nurses and make sure there wasn’t something going on of which I should be aware. We hadn’t intended to call the nurses as witnesses, but I have no clue if Leary is going to.
It was probably nothing to worry about, but I needed to check it out so I wasn’t caught by surprise at the trial. Surprises were not good, and yet . . . I was going to be springing a big one on Leary.
My stomach rolls and cramps.
The conference room door swings open, and my stomach unclenches and my chest starts to squeeze as Leary walks in. I mask my true feelings, instead standing up and shaking her hand professionally. So weird, acting like we’re only professional colleagues, considering she gave me an amazing blow job morning before last.
Right after she finished swallowing that morning, knowing we wouldn’t see each other again until today, she said, “That was just to give you something to dream about, baby.”
I groaned and kissed her hard, but we were both running late, so I couldn’t repay the favor.
I will tonight and told her as much.
Peter Goetge walks in right behind, and we all sit around and make small talk while we wait for the insurance adjuster, Tom Collier, to arrive.
Small talk continues for another fifteen minutes, and Peter regales us with a funny case he mediated last week. I keep half an ear on him, the other part of my mind occupied with Tom Collier. He’s the guy with the checkbook and the final say-so if his company will offer any money. Not only that, he’s required by law to be here. All parties are.
When Peter finishes his story, I pull my phone out and hold it up. “I’m going to give Tom a call. Find out when he’ll be here. I’m sorry he’s running late.”
Peter gives a good-natured smile, and Leary just cocks a beautiful eyebrow at me, causing my cock to thump like a well-trained puppy.
I dial Tom and he answers on the third ring. “Collier.”
“Where are you?” I ask in a low voice. “Mediation was supposed to start fifteen minutes ago.”
“The LaPietra mediation?” he asks.
“Yeah, the LaPietra mediation,” I growl. Fucking moron.
“I’m not coming,” he says matter-of-factly. “I’m not going to offer anything, so no use in wasting my time with a trip there.”
I glance up at Peter and Leary, who are watching me with curiosity. I cover the phone and apologize, “Excuse me a minute. I need to step out.”
When I close the conference room door behind me, I walk a few paces down the hall and growl, “What the fuck, Tom? You have to come. It’s ordered by the court.”
“But I’m not offering anything,” he points out.
“Doesn’t matter. You know this. You have to come and at least sit down at the table.”
“Well, I’m not. The weather’s too nice today, and I’ve got a round of golf scheduled in an hour.”
Sighing in frustration, I already start thinking about how I’m going to handle Leary when she blows her stack over this. “Tom, Miss Michaels is going to be livid. She’ll file a motion for sanctions, and the judge will grant it.”
“That bitch better not. I showed her courtesy by not filing a motion against her. We’re even.”
“That’s what this is about? About you getting even with her?” I ask in astonishment.
“That’s the gist of it,” he says smugly. “Now, go in there, do your job, and tell them no offer.”
He hangs up on me, which causes my blood to boil. Shoving my phone in my pocket, I walk back into the conference room, feeling the proverbial noose around my neck.
After shutting the door, I turn around and place my hands on the back of one of the conference room chairs. Looking at Leary, I say, “I’m sorry. Tom Collier isn’t coming.”
“Does he understand he’s under court order?” Peter asks in a deep voice, letting no one forget he sat on the bench for twenty years before becoming a mediator and deserves respect.
“Yes, sir,” I say apologetically, shooting Leary another glance. Her lips are flattened out and her eyes are icy.
Peter pulls out a form from his briefcase and uncaps his pen. “I’m assuming, then, that they are unwilling to make an offer?”
“That’s correct,” I say, my gaze flicking back and forth between the two of them.
“Well, I’ll just go ahead and report that this case has been impassed,” Peter says as he starts to fill out the form before him.
“With all due respect, Peter,” Leary says as she stands from her chair. “You cannot report an impasse. An impasse only comes when the parties all meet and cannot come to a resolution. Mr. Collier did not show up, thus there has not been a meeting.”
“But his counsel is conveying there will be no offer,” Peter points out.
“And yet, he is doing so without having seen the benefit of my presentation. Who knows? Maybe I would have shown Mr. Collier something that would induce him to make an offer. We’ll never know, though, will we, since he didn’t bother to show up.”
Peter sighs and puts the form away. Leary is right. Technically, all parties have to be here before an impasse can be called. Technically, she has the right to present her evidence to try to persuade TransBenefit to make an offer.
“Miss Michaels,” Peter says with authority, “you are accurately stating the letter of the law, but what good will come of it? Judge Henry will just order Mr. Collier to the table at a later date, he won’t make an offer, and you’ll be in the same position you are in now.”
“Again,” Leary says with surety, “with all due respect, the difference is that I spent over fourteen hours yesterday preparing for this mediation to present my case. My hourly rate is three hundred dollars, so that is forty-two hundred dollars in legal fees I’ve lost out on when I could have been doing something else had I known he wouldn’t show up. I also talked to all three of my experts on the phone yesterday to confirm their opinions, and trust me, doctors bill more than I do. I expect I’m out a good ten thousand just in one day’s preparation for this mediation. I expect you to report Mr. Collier didn’t show up so I can ask the court to sanction him for that amount.”