скачать книгу бесплатно
“Hey, Colin,” Bruce’s paralegal said as she stepped her very pregnant body by Colin and into Bruce’s office. “Bruce, they just phoned. They’d like you in the conference room now.”
Bruce glanced at his Rolex watch, a law-school graduation gift from his father. It was only eight-fifty. “Early.”
“Maybe that’s a good sign,” Colin said with a nonchalant shrug.
“Maybe,” Bruce said. He took one last sip of coffee, stood up and grabbed a breath mint. He popped the candy into his mouth and slipped into his suit jacket as the mint dissolved. “We’ll see.”
“I have to get the name of your tailor,” Colin said, again eyeing the cut of Bruce’s suit. “That is a great suit. Would work wonders on the ladies.”
Bruce flicked a piece of lint off the subtle blue pinstripe. “Salvatore Bandoria in Indianapolis. He and his wife are both seventy and all they do is make custom suits and dress shirts the old-fashioned way, as they did in Italy. They don’t advertise. Remind me later to give you the phone number.”
“I will,” Colin said. “Good luck.”
Those words brought back the reality of the situation, and Bruce shook his head as he walked past his paralegal and his best friend. “Thanks, but hopefully I won’t require any.”
“Yeah, right,” Colin said with a wry grin. “You’re off to that frying pan. You of all people should know firsthand exactly how much damage frying pans can do.”
The fire late last night had scorched the entire wall of the kitchen, ruining the stove and several custom cabinets. But it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Deliberately not answering Colin, Bruce headed for the stairs. After all, how hard could a woman be?
“HE’S ON HIS WAY,” Reginald Morris announced. He smiled at Christina. “More coffee before you jump in and get your feet wet?”
“Please,” she said, and held out her cup. Unlike wine from Kyle, who had plied her with too much, coffee from Reginald Morris couldn’t hurt.
Besides, by acknowledging the truth of why she’d been hired, she’d prepared for the worst.
There was one other female partner, Susan Jenkins. She handled trusts and estates, and at fifty-seven, she’d been with Lancaster and Morris for almost thirty years. Reginald Morris handled corporate law, as did three of the other senior partners, including Reginald’s brother, Larry. There were ten senior partners total, including Christina, and all were present except for Roger Lancaster, who was on an extended trip with his wife and not expected until the week after New Year’s.
Christina accepted another cup of java just as a movement at the door caught her attention. This must be Bruce Lancaster, descendant of one of the firm’s founders. Everyone in the conference room had been raving about him all morning—he’d just done a fantastic job on an appellate case in Indianapolis, which was why she hadn’t met him earlier.
“He’ll be your right hand on this case,” Reginald had told her. “He’s the real reason the women brought their issue to us in the first place. His cleaning lady told him about her friends’ plights, and he insisted they come talk to him, since their complaints were falling on deaf ears at their company. He’s the one who, on their behalf, filed all the violations with the government. But he doesn’t speak a word of Spanish.”
Reginald’s voice suddenly interrupted Christina’s retrospective. “Ah, here he is now, Christina. I’d like you to meet the man you’ll be working closely with, Bruce Lancaster.”
Christina automatically pushed her chair back and stood. The small crowd of people around him parted, letting him come into her field of view.
Her knees weakened and she gripped the edge of the mahogany table for support. “It’s you,” she said, unable to control her reaction as her stomach figuratively dropped to the soles of her Ferragamo shoes when Mr. Hunk, the firefighter who’d seen her at her worst, strode forward and stopped.
“You,” he said, failing to mask the shock crossing his face.
Reginald’s head turned as if he were watching a Ping-Pong match. He smiled uncertainly. “You two know each other?”
This was not the way to start her career return—first by being late and now by acting like a simpleton. “No,” Christina replied.
“Yes,” Bruce contradicted.
“I mean, we’ve met,” Christina said, quickly covering. Damn the man!
“We have,” Bruce said. He smiled widely, that charming Dennis Quaid grin of superiority, of one used to being master of his environment.
With the authority that only a member of a family could take, he patted Reginald once on the back, all while not letting his blue-eyed gaze lift from Christina’s. “Reginald, Christina’s an excellent choice for our firm. Just terrific. Angela’s behind me with all the paperwork, so how about I bring her up to speed? Christina—may I call you Christina? Or did your résumé say Chris? That’s the name I originally heard from my grandfather.”
Christina planted her feet and struggled for mental balance. He had bulldozed her over. A jury would love him. Mr. Hunk was good, very good. “I prefer Christina.”
He held out his hand, and she extended hers. He clasped it firmly, the amount of heat suddenly creating a most unwelcome shock.
“Christina, again let me welcome you to Lancaster and Morris. As I said, my paralegal, Angela, is carrying stacks of papers to the small conference room, which I’ve commandeered for our use for the entire length of the case.”
“Great,” Christina said. He released her hand, which allowed her equilibrium to normalize.
Reginald cleared his throat and took command of the room again. “Well, then, we’ll let you two get to work. After all, time is money. Welcome aboard, Christina. I’m going to leave you in Bruce’s excellent hands. He’s one of the best lawyers we’ve got, and he’ll show you all the ropes.”
“Thank you,” she replied. She had been thrown to the lions.
And then, one by one, all the partners filed out of the conference room, leaving Christina alone with Mr. Hunk.
Now all pleasantness was gone. Bruce Lancaster was the man whose partnership she’d taken.
And both of them knew it.
Chapter Three
“Shall we?” he asked without preamble, demonstrating exactly who controlled the situation. With a wide sweep of his right arm, he gestured toward the double doors.
“Of course,” Christina replied, her voice perfectly schooled into the tone her mother always irritatingly called “lawyerly neutral.”
Christina grabbed her briefcase and clutched it to her side. This man would not affect her, and whatever fight he wanted to pick with her, she would not have it here, in the grand conference room, where anyone walking by could overhear them.
She stepped by him, taking little satisfaction that his nose wrinkled as her signature floral scent reached his nostrils. She paused just outside the doors, willing herself to remain poised and nonchalant. She had no idea where the small conference room was located.
“Need directions?” he drawled behind her.
She arched an eyebrow, and smirked. “You mean you know them?”
“Touché. Quick on her feet, with a bite to match the bark. Please, though, ladies first. The space we’ve been allocated is on the right, about three doors down.”
Christina drew her shoulders up and strode down the hallway. Luckily, there weren’t any curious faces to pass, and within seconds she’d entered the twenty-by-twenty-foot room. An early twenty-something woman whom Christina assumed to be Angela stood up. Her stomach protruded.
“Hi,” Christina said. She held out her hand. “I’m Christina Jones. You must be Angela. Congratulations on expecting.”
“Thank you.”
“You’ll be working with me on the case?” Christina asked.
“Only for the duration of it,” Bruce told her smoothly. “I’m sure you’ll have your own paralegal at some point. Make sure Reginald hires you one.”
Making it very clear that although Christina may have taken his promotion, she wasn’t getting his office staff, as well.
Angela’s gaze darted between the two of them, as if she was trying to decide what the best course of action was. “I’ll be here until Christmas, and then I’m on maternity leave for at least three months,” she said. Her face broke into a wide smile. “She’s my first.”
“I have a little girl,” Christina said, trying to find some common ground. “Bella’s eight.”
“Well,” Bruce said with an obvious cough before Angela could answer, “that’s all very nice, but we have work to do.”
“I’ve got all your files stacked and your messages are right there. Do either of you need anything else?” Angela asked.
“No, thanks,” Bruce said. “Just close the door behind you.”
“Will do. Nice to meet you, Ms. Jones.”
After Angela left, Christina faced Bruce.
“What?” he asked.
“You know, I’m surprised you didn’t have her branded before she arrived. Tell you what, Bruce. Why don’t you get all your anger off your chest early. Your paralegal, your partnership. Both now mine. Perhaps you should admit you’re upset. If we clear the air, it might help us work together. After all, as you pointed out, we have a job to do.”
“Do you have a degree in psychology, too?” He didn’t wait for her to shake her head. “I didn’t think so.”
In a movement of control, Bruce sat down at the table. Christina remained standing. “Let’s get a few things straight. I’m a Lancaster. I’m the founder’s direct descendant. Roy Lancaster is my grandfather. Remember the Supreme Court case Wedlock v. Storm? He argued that one, and only one judge dissented. I descend from multiple generations of legal stock. I was top of my class and got the highest score on the bar that year. I could have worked anywhere.”
She jutted her chin. “Your point is?”
The right corner of his mouth twitched. “Tell me, why should I be upset about waiting another year for a partnership? I’ll be old and gray and this will still be my firm, my heritage. It will belong to my children, my sons and daughters. So don’t try to use your pseudo-psychology on me. I’m not angry about the partnership. You couldn’t be more wrong.”
He paused for a few seconds, and Christina knew the litigator inside him wasn’t finished. He’d only just begun.
And as much as she didn’t relish the conflict, she found it slightly invigorating. She could already tell that he had a razor-sharp mind. He was quick on his feet, a man in control. He was self-assured, even when dealt a blow. She had to admit this man intrigued and stirred something inside her.
“Hmm,” he finally said, “let’s see how clever you really are and if we can do what you suggested and clear the air enough so that we can work together. How about you start by telling me what I have to work with. Since I was in Indianapolis, I missed your interview with Reginald. You only interviewed with him, correct?”
“Yes, once past the initial screening.”
“That’s what I thought. Your hiring went quickly. How many cases have you won lately?”
“That’s on my résumé. I’m sure you could ask to see it. Or tomorrow I’ll provide you a copy. I was a junior partner fast-tracked for a senior role at my last firm.”
“So you feel you’re qualified to work here?”
“Of course. There were other finalists and Reginald Morris thought I was the best. I did graduate Harvard top of my class. I did not just go there for an MRS degree.” She paused only briefly. “I also have impeccable references.”
He rolled his eyes. “Ah, stop avoiding the question. That’s not what I asked. I asked how many cases you’d won lately. Do me a favor and be frank. I can at least respect honesty. Now you might understand why I’m truly upset. It’s been eight years since you’ve last practiced. This is my case. I brought it in. I’m going to win it. While you might have had an impressive record years ago, your major qualification is that you speak Spanish.”
“We—”
“Don’t interrupt unless you have good reason to object. It’s impolite and frowned on, especially in court. Let me simply sum up. You are here to be the female attorney the women can relate to, and to play interpreter. That’s not any type of sexual harassment, either, just role definition and job description. You haven’t had trial experience in years, and I’m not going to let you waltz in here and start over with a case as important and groundbreaking as this one. You’re an outsider here, and that can be as grating as nails on a chalkboard.”
“I’m—”
He ignored her interruption. “None of these women will know what Harvard is, much less know where it is. Most of them didn’t even finish grade school. They won’t wear designer shoes. They can’t even afford the clothes that they make, even though they slave over each and every stitch. This is rural Indiana, not some big city. It’s not an area that’s culturally assimilated, or that has resources that celebrate ethnic heritage. You may be the same ethnicity as they are, but you are so far above them socially and economically that you might as well be one hundred percent white.”
“Are you done?” Christina asked, her posture rigid.
“No, I’m not.” Bruce swallowed, drawing his cheeks tight. “This is not playtime. It’s not some genie costume, set off a smoke machine and everything will still be okay. Harassment is real for these women, and any misstep might cost us this case, and their futures, dearly. That I will not allow.”
Christina froze her face into neutral and resisted the urge to clench her hands into fists and beat Bruce Lancaster into a pulp as she once had her cousin during a visit to Mexico City. She’d beenten. He’d pulled her pigtails.
Bruce Lancaster had done much worse. He’d insulted her integrity. He’d judged her incompetent based on a series of events beyond her control. He’d also belittled her—almost, but not quite, as much as Kyle.
Bruce was a jerk, probably just as bad as the ones they would be fighting. Mr. Hunk might be attractive, but he was not nice.
She took a deep breath and gave herself a much-needed continuance. She and Bruce would finish this conversation later, after she’d proved herself. Then she would rub his nose into every word he’d said. He deserved nothing less.
“Well,” she managed calmly, her face a mask to hide her inner fury. “Now that you’ve finished venting in a misguided attempt to put me in my place, shall we actually begin to work on the case, or shall we continue to simply waste more valuable time?”
He stared at her, blue eyes wary, and she knew she’d caught him off guard.
“You see, Bruce—may I call you Bruce? I might not have a win record as long or impressive as yours, or even have close to your extensive courtroom experience, but that doesn’t make me incompetent. I had an ex who spent years trying to prove that I was, and if he didn’t succeed in convincing me, you won’t, either. You’ve tried and convicted me based on circumstantial evidence and preconceived notions. Let me assure you, I won’t fail.”
“I don’t have time for you to,” he returned, his tone never losing its edge.
“And I won’t.” Christina leveled her brown eyes at him and held his gaze without blinking. Her body hummed with energy. “So why don’t we do what we’ve been hired to do for these women, hmm? Shall you and I declare a much-needed truce, at least until you find some real evidence against me?”
He crossed his arms and studied her. His gaze traveled from her tight chignon, over the designer blue suit and down to her matching heels. “The jury’s still out,” he said flatly.
“Fair enough,” she agreed. For now. Kyle had done enough damage over the years to her self-esteem. Bruce Lancaster had another thing coming if he thought she would simply roll over. She would never do that again, for anyone.
He gestured to a stack of brown expandable folders at one end of the table. “Those files contain the original interview notes. We’ve done no formal depositions at this time.”
Bruce rose, moved a few steps and tapped a different stack of folders. She noticed his tightly clipped and filed nails—guy’s nails that hadn’t been professionally manicured.
“These files contain the violation reports that we’ve filed with the EEOC,” Bruce continued. Christina knew the EEOC was the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission, the government agency in charge of overseeing all Title VII violations.
“Over there are the books I’ve pulled that have case history and applicable laws. Precedent is on our side, but with the recent changes in affirmative action legislation, there may be some chiseling at the sexual harassment laws, as well. Some of the women’s cases are much stronger than others. We’ve already filed EEOC complaints on all of them, and submitted a demand letter to the company. If the company meets our demands, we’ll settle. But if not, once the EEOC allows us to, we’re filing in federal court for multiple violations of Title VII. Where do you want to start?”
“The beginning,” Christina said, regaining some calm now that he was being reasonable. “That’s usually the best place. Take me in chronological order.”
“Okay.” Bruce nodded and returned to his seat. She followed suit and sat herself opposite him.
They were still sitting there, engrossed in work, four hours later when Angela knocked on the door and opened it. So caught up in the case, Christina hadn’t even realized that the time had passed.
“I brought you both some lunch,” Angela said.
“Thanks,” Bruce replied easily, his demeanor relaxed, as if his working straight through the morning and lunch without a break was commonplace.
“I hope turkey sandwiches are okay,” Angela said as she handed Bruce the deli bag.
“Perfect,” Bruce said.
“They’re fine,” Christina agreed with a nod. Ever since she’d been pregnant with Bella, sliced turkey had held little appeal, mostly she ate vegan. But today she’d force herself to eat whatever sandwiches were in the bag. Her stomach growled. After all, it was after one.
