Risk Assessment

by Parker St John

  He thought about the ghost of a smile Lucas wore when he was about to murder Elliot with words, or the way he couldn’t stop laughing when he’d hidden all Elliot’s socks one morning. He remembered the warmth of Lucas’s rough voice as he moved inside Elliot the previous night, and he wondered how the hell he could have been so blind as to have found Greg appealing for so long.

  But maybe he hadn’t. Maybe that accounted for their astounding failure of a sex life. Elliot realized now that he’d never found him all that appealing. Greg had been appropriate. He’d been expected. He fit the life Elliot was supposed to lead. That was all.

  Amazing what not seeing someone for a year could do to one’s perspective.

  Elliot ignored both his colleagues and addressed the person in the room he was there to help. “Hello, Mr. Suvari.” He offered his hand. “It’s good to see you again.”

  The man shook his hand. Elliot turned to the woman and extended his hand to her, as well. “Elliot Smith. I’m a colleague of Mr. Kovalenko. You don’t mind me sitting in, do you?”

  The woman clamped onto his hand with icy fingers. She didn’t smile. “Madeleine Jacobs,” she said. “You might as well sit down and go nowhere like the rest of us.”

  Elliot murmured his thanks and took a seat beside Maksim, who had used the distraction to return his face to its sardonic default.

  “Mr. Vernon was just explaining to us why his client feels entitled to half a million in damages for a single dress,” Maksim drawled. “Was it made of phoenix tears, Ms. Jacobs?”

  “It was a one of a kind Daphne Martin,” she explained for Elliot’s benefit. “It cost nearly ten thousand dollars.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Elliot managed with a straight face. “I can’t help but notice that’s only one fiftieth of the amount you’re asking.”

  “The dress was irreplaceable.” Her lips were painted mauve and tended to pinch every time someone else spoke. “It was an heirloom. I planned to pass it to my daughter when I was finished with it.”

  Elliot jotted a few notes on the legal pad Maksim wasn’t using. “How old is your daughter?”

  “Three in March.”

  Elliot’s pen froze. Maksim leaned back in his chair and cracked his neck. When he caught Elliot’s sideways glance, he leaned into his ear and murmured, “Last month, she said she was giving it to her maid as a wedding present.”

  Elliot cleared his throat. “So you want $490,000 to cover…”

  “Mental anguish,” Greg interjected before his client could speak. “Medical bills. Legal fees.”

  Elliot raised his eyebrows. “Your rates must have gone up considerably now that you made junior partner.”

  “Let’s get back to the medical bills. Did you catch a chill from being unclothed, Ms. Jacobs?” Maksim held out a hand expectantly, and Greg dug through his file until he could produce copies of the bills.

  Maksim Kovalenko was one of the most sarcastic pieces of shit Elliot had ever had the misfortune of knowing, but he usually played it straight in the courtroom. He was a predator beneath every inch of his perfectly groomed facade and the most ruthless attorney Elliot had ever worked with. Things must have reached an unprecedented level of asshattery before Elliot’s arrival, for him to be so bent out of shape that he was taking jabs at the opposing counsel’s client. Not that anything that had come across the table so far had made any damn sense whatsoever.

  “My doctor recently diagnosed me with fibromyalgia,” the woman explained. She produced a tissue from her clutch and dabbed at her black mascara. “He explained that the stress of the lawsuit might have triggered it.”

  Maksim looked up slowly from his paperwork, eyes narrowed. “The stress of the lawsuit, Ms. Jacobs? Or the loss of the dress?”

  “B-both,” she amended. Greg was giving her the look every attorney knew well, the one that implied they thought their client was dumber than a box of rocks. But she was determined to finish her thought. “The entire situation has been extremely stressful for me. I’m not sleeping well.”

  “Considering his risk of bankruptcy, we can safely assume it hasn’t been a picnic for my client either,” Maksim said casually. Then, just as casually, so that even Elliot almost missed his implication, he asked, “Are you experiencing bankruptcy, Ms. Jacobs?”

  “Whoa!” Greg leaned forward anxiously. He held up his hands like a referee calling a timeout. “That’s out of line and irrelevant, Kovalenko. Her finances don’t matter. Your client ruined her personal property. Period.”

  “But they do matter, Vernon,” Maksim said smoothly. “I did a little digging. I even spoke with the great Daphne Martin personally. She said she would be happy to remake the dress, at its original price, no less. Which leaves me wondering why Ms. Jacobs hasn’t taken her up on such a generous offer? If the dress meant so much to her, why hasn’t she accepted our settlement of twice its value, so she could replace it and move on with her life? Unless, of course, she’s insolvent and looking for an easy payday at the expense of my client.”

  There was a profound silence. Mr. Suvari looked hopeful for the first time since he’d stopped by their office two months ago.

  Elliot began to suspect Maksim had been fully in control of the negotiations from the beginning, and Miguel had drastically overreacted. Perhaps there was still a chance Elliot could get home at a reasonable time.

  “That doesn’t matter,” Greg finally announced. He’d always been disgustingly competent at finding excuses. “The dress itself is moot. The issue has become larger than that. Ms. Jacobs is performing her civil duty by shining a spotlight on your client’s abuse of consumer protection regulations.”

  “What?” Elliot asked blankly.

  “Jiffy Cleaners had two slogans plastered on their window,” Greg said smugly. “They claimed ‘Satisfaction Guaranteed’ and ‘Same Day Service.’ Not only was my client not satisfied, but she didn’t receive the damaged garment until the following day. Jiffy Cleaners has committed common law fraud and blatantly violates consumer protection laws.”

  Elliot and Mr. Suvari both looked at Maksim, whose gaze was positively reptilian. The hair on the back of Elliot’s neck stood up.

  “Mr. Suvari,” Maksim said calmly. “I advise that we now remove your settlement offer from the table.”

  “But if I go to court…” the man began to protest.

  “You won’t.” Maksim hadn’t taken his eyes off Greg. He looked contemptuous. “I’m going to make sure they leave here with nothing.”

  “If that’s how you feel…” Greg began to rise.

  “Sit down,” Maksim snarled. He turned to Madeleine Jacobs. “Trust me, you’ll want to hear this.”

  Elliot glanced at his watch and sighed. He wasn’t necessary here. But even though he was only serving as moral support, there was really no way Elliot could leave now without appearing unprofessional. Besides, watching Maksim work was like watching the discovery channel. Sometimes it was just immensely satisfying to watch a lion stalk a gazelle.

  “It boils down to this,” Maksim announced, looking Madeleine Jacobs directly in the eye. “Your counsel has not been entirely forthright with you, Ms. Jacobs, if you think there’s even a small chance of winning this case. The judge will rule against you, if he doesn’t throw the charges out entirely, and then you’ll be slapped with a countersuit for frivolous litigation.”

  “Ignore him, Madeleine,” Greg said calmly. “Mr. Kovalenko is not clairvoyant.”

  Maksim crooked a silver brow. “It’s happened before. Multiple times, in fact, with everything from hot coffee to broken windows. You aren’t the first person to sue a dry cleaner. In almost all those cases can you guess whose name was blasted in the media? Whose reputation do you think will be ruined? A small business owner no one has ever heard of? Or a morally and financially bankrupt socialite with dollar signs in her eyes?”

  “I’ll go so far as to alert the media myself,” Elliot chimed in.

  Maksim chuckled.

&nb
sp; “Elliot!” Greg snapped over Madeleine Jacob’s horrified gasp.

  Elliot was out of patience with them both. “Stuff it, Greg.” He scowled at his former lover. “You and I both know you have no expectation of winning. You’re hoping Mr. Suvari will give in and settle for half, just to spare himself a trial. Both you and Ms. Jacobs get a nice slice of the litigation pie and our client gets to close his doors forever when he can’t recoup his losses. But, after all, you don’t send your suits there, anyway.”

  “I don’t—”

  “What you’re both overlooking,” Elliot plowed on, “is that Mr. Kovalenko here would rather set himself on fire than see you get one red cent, and he’ll make sure his client is on the same page.”

  In unison, Greg and Madeleine Jacobs shifted their eyes to the men at Elliot’s left. Maksim’s expression was blank as a wax doll, but his eyes were wintery. Mr. Suvari sat as straight as he was able and folded his arms over his sunken chest. He gave a firm nod.

  “We have the resources to make your lives miserable while he drags this case out for a decade.” Elliot said honestly.

  “The sign—” Greg wound himself up to begin his spiel once more.

  Elliot interrupted him. “That sign is only false advertising if a reasonable person would reasonably expect it to mean that they will never be even remotely dissatisfied with their service. Which no one ever would: Pearson v. Chung.” He addressed Madeleine Jacobs one last time. “I would advise you to take a settlement of ten thousand dollars to replace the dress and put the rest of this behind you.”

  “You came in here offering twenty!” Greg objected.

  “That was before you pissed off Kovalenko and made me late for my date,” Elliot growled.

  The twist on Maksim’s lips might have been a smile. “What do you say, Ms. Jacobs?” Maksim asked. “I understand you were desperate for funds and allowed a smooth talking attorney to steer you in the wrong direction—”

  “Hey!”

  “—but now is the time to move on.”

  Elliot managed not to roll his eyes. Speaking of smooth talking bullshit. But it was a solid tactic. Maksim was giving her the opportunity to save face by throwing her attorney under the bus. Not that it mattered what the people in that room thought of her personally, but psychology was a tricky thing.

  In the end, Madeleine Jacobs relented. The tip of her nose turned red and her eyes welled with tears. “Very well,” she sighed. “I’ll settle.”

  Maksim produced a paper, filled in the final offer, and slid it across the table for her signature. Greg didn’t bother to object. A good lawyer knew when the tide had turned against him.

  13

  Elliot

  Mr. Suvari was jubilant. His weathered face was contorted into a wide smile. He grabbed both Maksim and Elliot by the heads to kiss them on both cheeks.

  “Thank you!” he cried. “You have saved my livelihood!”

  “It was an honor,” Maksim said solemnly.

  They were standing on the front steps while Elliot punched in the alarm code and locked the doors. The temperature had dropped significantly with the sinking sun, enough for him to see his breath in the gloom. He had just finished his turn shaking their client’s hand when a BMW double-parked in front of them. Out stepped Greg with his hands tucked into the pockets of his designer suit.

  “You’re both real shits,” he announced jovially as he strolled up to them. “Couldn’t even give me enough to make this whole thing worth my time?”

  “Pick better clients next time, Vernon,” Maksim replied, his former ire hidden once more behind a mask of acerbic charm. Elliot was beginning to think that was a permanent state for him.

  Mr. Suvari looked at Greg like he was dog shit, and no wonder, since the man had almost aided and abetted the destruction of his only means of income. He muttered something in Turkish, then patted Maksim on the arm once more and departed down the sidewalk.

  Greg shrugged ruefully. “Madeleine is a family friend. I really had no choice.”

  Maksim was uncompromising. “Then pick better friends.”

  Greg ignored him and turned his attention to Elliot. He stepped close, smile warming in a manner that had Elliot shifting uncomfortably. “How have you been, El?”

  “Just fine,” he said evenly. He was tempted to leave it there, but four decades of social conditioning had him asking, “You?”

  “Great. Did you hear I took second place in the club tennis championship?”

  “I didn’t. Congratulations.”

  “Do you play anymore?” Greg frowned. “The club courts are the best. I don’t know how a guy as good as you could stand playing on a city court.”

  Elliot shook his head. “I play racquetball these days.”

  “Oh.” Greg took a step back, looking as revolted as if Elliot had just announced he slept under the bridge to save money. He recovered quickly and shook his head. “Damn, that’s a shame. I’ll pay your dues if that’s the issue. Talent like yours shouldn’t be wasted, no matter what happened between us.”

  Maksim had turned such an incredulous look on Elliot that he felt himself flush with embarrassment.

  “Jesus, Smith.” Maksim whistled. “You’re the one who need to pick better friends.”

  “You’re a such charmer, Kovalenko,” Greg sneered.

  “I reserve my charm for those who have yet to entirely sell their souls.”

  Elliot’s eyebrows shot up and Greg burst out laughing. “This coming from the most bloodthirsty attorney in Lockheed & Poole’s stable? Is there a case you won’t take or an opponent you won’t step on? What do you see when you look in the mirror, Kovalenko?”

  “I see one handsome bastard,” he replied smoothly. Ignoring Greg, who was choking on his incredulity, Maksim turned and shook Elliot’s hand. “Smith, thanks for your help today.”

  “Not that it was needed.” But it had been generous of Maksim to offer his gratitude. Elliot suddenly felt a great deal fonder of his colleague. “Goodnight, Maks.”

  If Maksim was startled to hear his nickname from Elliot, who typically treated him with the wariness of an alley cat, he didn’t let it show. He gave an ironic little salute and crossed the street toward the parking garage, the tails of his overcoat whipping behind him in the stiff breeze.

  “He’s a real piece of work,” Greg muttered. He slouched back against the stone face of the CLC building, but he didn’t look relaxed. He looked pale and unhappy. A gust of wind lifted an entire section of his gelled hair into an odd angle.

  “Why is that? Because he has more ambition than you?”

  Greg scoffed. “No, he doesn’t. If he did, he wouldn’t squander so much of his time here.”

  “You do your own pro bono work. What have you got against the CLC?”

  “Besides the fact that Alexander Cabrini is the biggest laughingstock to hit the legal world in a decade? Someone with your talent joining his little half-assed justice league is insulting. I’m offended on your behalf.”

  “You know, I could have sworn we broke up just so we didn’t need to have this conversation again.”

  “If that’s how you want to remember it.” Greg shrugged. “I don’t want to argue you with you, Elliot.”

  “What do you want?”

  Greg tossed his hands into the air in exasperation. “To talk? To catch up with someone I shared five years of my life with? For him not to treat me like something he stepped in? That’s not too much to ask, is it?”

  Elliot examined him, his pale softness, his perpetual smirk, and felt not even an inkling of attraction. But he felt something. There was the expected resentment and regret, of course. But beneath that was a niggling of concern, because unless his memory was faulty, Greg truly didn’t look like himself. He looked stiff and unhappy. They had shared five years, working together, laughing together, vacationing together, and it wouldn’t do Elliot any harm to treat him cordially. Underneath all Greg’s narcissism and ambition was a man who had been emotionally ill
equipped for life. It wasn’t his fault that Elliot had realized too late that he wanted something different.

  He sighed. “You’re right. You deserve more from me than that. But now isn’t the time.”

  “Hot date?”

  He knew better than to answer a loaded question like that. He opened his mouth to tell him it was none of his business, but movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention. The hulking form of a man approached them from across the street, drawing both their gazes. The neighborhood wasn’t the type where people approaching in the evening gloom could be disregarded.

  Greg stiffened anxiously at his side, and whether it was instinct or habit, Elliot stepped in front of him. But just as he was about to call out a casual greeting, the form coalesced into the familiar shape of a man in jeans and a leather jacket. Elliot’s breath caught in his throat, just the way it had the first time this particular man had strolled toward him.

  Lucas Kelly was a spectacular specimen of masculinity. But that wasn’t because of his appearance, not really. At least, it wasn’t entirely because of that, though the man had a body that would make the devil weep. It was the easy grace with which he carried himself. It was the physical confidence of a man entirely at ease with himself. When Elliot had once said as much to him, Lucas had laughed so hard he’d choked on his pasta, and Elliot had been forced to pound on his back until he could breathe again.

  “It’s mostly show,” Lucas had confided with a chuckle. “My version of the prison swagger, I guess. Body language matters, especially if you’re trying to avoid a beat down.”

  There was more to it than that, though Elliot was sure prison had played its part. Lucas was a man who had been tested by fire at a young age and come out the other side relatively unscathed. He’d been tempered by all that heat into something strong and kind, capable of handling whatever battles still lay ahead for him.