Jeff swiveled his chair to face his colleague. “We made a generous offer to settle and she refused,” he grouched. “That’s what’s going on with the lawsuit.”
Graham leaned back and stretched his long legs. “So what comes next? Will you make her a better offer?” Graham wasn’t thick, but he seemed to lack a certain emotional intelligence that other people had. Like how other people would have realized this was a touchy subject. Maybe it was an Aussie thing.
“I don’t know,” Jeff said. “Kim wants to go to trial.”
“You can’t do that, mate. A trial would be brutal.”
“I know. But Kim’s pissed. She wants to take down Lisa. She wants to prove we’re not guilty.”
“That would be awful for the kids. Don’t put them through that.”
“I know.”
Graham crossed a leg over his knee, getting comfortable. “So what’s she like? The bitch who’s after you …”
“I always thought she was a New Age, hippy-dippy weirdo.”
“She can’t be that enlightened if she’s trying to fuck you and Kim in the ass.”
“I don’t know if Lisa’s trying to ‘fuck us in the ass,’ exactly,” Jeff explained. “Kim thinks the lawsuit is some personal vendetta. But Lisa’s daughter lost her eye. She probably feels like some monetary compensation will ease the pain.”
“My dad’s best mate only had one eye. It didn’t seem to hold him back any.”
“But Ronni’s just a kid. Kids are cruel … and it’s different for girls. They’re already so insecure about their looks. I can’t imagine how Hannah would deal with being disfigured.”
Graham winced at the word. “Have you seen it? The eye?”
“No … but Aidan said it’s pretty nasty.”
“Poor girl.” Graham uncrossed his legs. “If I were you, I’d write the mother a big fat check. I’d sell a car, divest some stocks, whatever it takes to make it go away.”
“Kim thinks if we give Lisa a big payout, we’re admitting that we’re at fault.”
“No, you’re not. The police cleared you.”
“So if we did go to trial, we’d have a chance.”
“Don’t do it. I’m serious. My brother got sued back in Oz—the lawyers were ruthless. I mean, who knows what shit could come out at trial?”
Jeff looked at his hulking friend and his eyes narrowed. “Why do you care so much?”
“I don’t… . But you’ll feel a lot better if you compensate Lisa and Ronni for their pain and suffering.” Graham checked his watch and stood. “And the sooner you do, the sooner you can get back to what’s important. Like my RFP.” He sauntered out of Jeff’s office.
Jeff chuckled and turned back to his work, but the brief disruption had made it hard to focus. His mind returned to Ronni and Lisa and the lawsuit. Graham had a point. The best way to get Lisa to leave them alone was to throw money at her. He could sell his boat. It just sat there in the marina costing him dough for most of the year. He’d add that money to the pot and sweeten Lisa’s deal. Kim would have to go along, now that she knew about the champagne, now that she knew he’d asked the girls to cover for him. Maybe she was already on board? It was hard to know, since they’d basically stopped talking to each other.
His phone rang. It was the new receptionist, Tara. She’d been with them for only a month, but she seemed to be working out okay. The job wasn’t exactly challenging. He picked up the receiver and Tara’s voice came through the phone. “Your daughter’s here.”
Hannah was there? She should be in school. And it would take her at least an hour to get to Palo Alto via transit. Something must be wrong… . He stood up, smashing his thighs into the top of his desk, shaking his computer, his coffee cup, and his pen holder in his haste. “I’ll be right out.”
When Jeff entered the lobby, he didn’t see his daughter. The waiting area was empty but for a petite young woman in a skirt and heels, her head bent over a magazine. He turned to Tara. “Uh … you said my daughter was here?” Maybe Tara had summoned the wrong person? Maybe she wasn’t working out as well as he’d thought.
“She’s right there,” Tara said, clearly bemused.
The young woman in the waiting area looked up from her magazine. Her long hair swept back to reveal her face. She wasn’t a woman; she was a girl. Fuck.
“Hi, Daddy.”
Jeff’s heart was hammering in his chest as Lauren stood and smiled. She was in a fitted skirt, a short top that grazed its waistband, and sky-high heels. Her makeup was dark and impeccable. She looked twenty-one at least. He reminded himself that she wasn’t; she was sixteen.
“Hi.”
He had to get her out of here. Jeff rushed toward her and grabbed her arm. Pulling her toward the office doors, he whispered, “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I needed to see you,” Lauren said.
“You can’t just show up here,” he growled, pushing open the glass doors and leading her through them. As they hurried toward the elevator, Jeff was sure Tara was watching them. He knew it didn’t look right. And even if the new receptionist bought that Lauren was his daughter, there were plenty of people on staff who had met Hannah. He stabbed the elevator down button multiple times.
Mercifully, the elevator was empty when it arrived. He pressed the button for the parking garage and prayed no one would get on. He remembered the last time they were in an elevator together, riding up to Lauren’s dad’s apartment after the accident. He remembered the tense silence and the smell of vomit. She’d been a stranger to him then. It seemed like months ago and minutes ago.
“I tried to text you but you blocked me,” Lauren said. She stood in the back corner of the elevator, leaning against the walls. For the first time, he noticed her glassy eyes and unsteady balance. The girl was fucked-up on something. Great.
Instinctively, he took her to his car. As they peeled out of the underground parking garage, he had no idea where they were going, but a moving target was harder to shoot. When they were on the open road, she said, “Where are you taking me?”
“I’m taking you home.”
“No fucking way. I’m not going home.”
“I’ll take you back to school then.”
She laughed. “Yeah? Are you going to take my hand and drag me inside? That wouldn’t look weird at all.”
She had him there. “What the fuck do you want from me, Lauren?” He hadn’t meant to yell, but he did. The girl didn’t respond. Jeff tore his eyes away from the road and looked over at her. She was crying quietly.
“I love you… .”
Jesus Christ. He couldn’t deal with a delusional, wasted teenager and drive his car at the same time. He still hadn’t used the Tesla’s autopilot function (despite his affinity for technology, he still felt his brain and reflexes were superior), and now was definitely not the time to start. He took a right and steered the car down a commercial side street. Traffic was sparse in this area, but still, he hunched down in his seat. When he deemed them a safe distance from his office, he pulled into a Staples. He stopped in a deserted corner of its massive parking lot and turned off the car.
Jeff faced forward, staring through the windshield at the depressing expanse of gray retail park. Someone had abandoned a shopping cart within his frame of view, and a white plastic bag had attached itself to the wheels. A small breeze caught the bag, tugging at it and twisting it, but it was hopelessly stuck there. Jeff kept his eyes forward and spoke slowly. “What the fuck are you talking about, Lauren?”
“I love you,” she sniveled.
“You don’t love me. You don’t even know me.”
She placed her hand on his knee. “We have a connection, you know we do. Don’t try and pretend we don’t.”
Jeff looked down at her hand, small, pretty … a child’s hand. He turned and looked at her then. “We don’t have a connection. You’re a kid. You’re my daughter’s friend. You’re nothing to me.” He tossed the hand off his leg like it was a piece of burning ga
rbage.
He may as well have slapped her. She covered her face with her hands and cried into them. He knew he was being harsh and he didn’t enjoy it, but pitying her was what had gotten him into this mess. Damn that fucking ice cream… . Damn that fucking ride home… .
“I should just kill myself,” she mumbled through tears and fingers.
It was a cry for attention, yet another manipulation, but Jeff felt a twinge of something. “Don’t say that.” She was just a screwed-up kid. That night in his car, she’d told him that no one loved her, no one cared about her. He didn’t want to push her over the edge. He pulled a tissue out of his pants pocket and handed it to her. “Here”—she took it—“pull yourself together.”
Lauren dabbed at her eyes and then blew her nose loudly. She flipped down the visor and peered into the embedded mirror. Her makeup must have been waterproof—shellac—but she ran her fingers under her eyes anyway. Then she flipped up the visor and settled back into her seat. She suddenly seemed extremely composed.
“Did you like the pictures I sent you?”
He felt a surge of anger. The little bitch was playing him. “No, I didn’t,” he said firmly. “They made me feel uncomfortable. And sick.”
“You’re lying… .” He looked over at her. She was smiling, trying to look coy and sexy. She looked ridiculous.
“I’m being completely honest with you, Lauren. I don’t find you attractive. I don’t have feelings for you. I just want you to leave me the fuck alone.”
The waterworks started again, but he wasn’t falling for it. He started the car. “I’m taking you home.”
“I’ll tell about the champagne!”
“Go ahead. You’ve been deposed. If you change your story now, you’ll be charged with perjury.”
“I’ll tell your wife then!”
Jeff spoke in a measured voice. “My wife knows. You’ve got nothing on me anymore. You can’t blackmail me or manipulate me. It’s over.” He put the car in drive.
“I’ve got your texts.”
The texts. Fuck. He looked over at Lauren. Her face was wet with tears, but she was smiling, a smug, self-satisfied smile. He turned the car off again. “I never said anything incriminating… .” But his throat constricted and his voice came out high, almost feminine, belying his fear.
“Still … I think Hannah would be pretty upset to find out you sent me, like, thirty texts.”
“No, I didn’t!”
“Thirty-two actually. I counted them. And if I told her how you came to get me that night and how you held me and kissed me… .”
“I didn’t—” But he stopped himself, remembering the paternal peck on the crown he’d given her when she was wasted, sobbing about how no one knew her, no one cared about her. Hardly a kiss, but still … totally inappropriate. He looked at the child in his passenger seat. Through her tears and runny nose, she was smirking.
A rage welled up inside of him like he’d never felt before. He wanted to grab this girl by the neck; he wanted to smash her head into the dashboard. He wanted to make her disappear from his life, forever, and there was only one way to do that. Jeff had never hit anyone, had never even been in a fight, but he owned The Sopranos boxed set and he’d watched it all the way through, twice. He could do it. He could choke the life out of this little bitch. He’d enjoy it, too, seeing the fear in her eyes, the realization that she’d fucked with the wrong guy. When she was dead, he’d drive out to the forest and bury her sixteen-year-old corpse deep, deep in the ground. No one would ever find her. And no one would miss her. Lauren had said so herself.
But Jeff was not Paulie Walnuts. “What do you want, Lauren?”
“I just want you in my life,” Lauren said, suddenly sweet and pleading. “I want to be able to talk to you and text with you. You’re the only person who really understands me.”
Jeff almost laughed out loud, but he held it in, creating a coughing/snorting sound in the back of his throat. He spoke gently. “You need help, Lauren. A therapist or a psychiatrist.”
“No, I don’t. I just need you.” Her hand crept back to his lap. He removed it gently.
“You can’t have me.”
“Then I guess I have no choice.” She smiled and he felt a chill run through him: this girl was a psychopath.
Jeff’s eyes moved to the small purse resting between her knees. He could snatch it and grab her phone and smash it on the asphalt. He could take the SIM card and destroy it, throw it in the ocean. But Lauren seemed to read his mind. She tucked the bag farther up her thighs, under her butt. He couldn’t get it now without molesting her. Lauren smiled at him, victorious, and Jeff felt the fight drain from his body. He’d been worn down and beaten by a teenaged girl.
“I’ll unblock you,” he said. “I’ll be there for you.”
Lauren beamed, a little girl getting a pony for Christmas, then she leaned over and pressed her lips to his cheek. She held them there, longer than she should have. He could smell her shampoo and some fruity lip gloss, and Jeff didn’t want to feel what he was feeling. It was perverted and wrong and he wanted to push her off him. But he couldn’t. Finally, she sat back in her seat and smiled.
“Okay. You can drive me home now.”
lisa
SIXTY DAYS AFTER
Lisa perused the document, her eyes flitting over the confounding legalese. Her lower back was hurting from the hard, modern client chair she’d been offered by her lawyer, Paul. He sat on the other side of his pristine desk in leather ergonomically designed comfort. He watched her wade through the paper, his stubby fingers tented in front of his Cheshire smile.
“Eight hundred and fifty thousand is an incredible offer,” Paul said. “They’re definitely motivated to settle this.”
A low whistle emanated from Lisa’s boyfriend, Allan, seated beside her in a matching modern chair. “That’s serious money,” he said. She’d invited him along for moral support, in case things didn’t go well. Based on his wide grin and raised eyebrows, he thought things were going extremely well.
Lisa spoke directly to Paul. “That’s not even half of what I asked for.”
Paul folded his hands on the desk. “The three million was never realistic,” he explained. “The Sanderses aren’t that rich. It was tactical. To show them we mean business… .” He leaned back in his chair, triumphant. “I think they got the message.”
“I’ll say.” Allan gave her another grin, another eyebrow lift. She shouldn’t have brought him.
Lisa slid the papers back toward Paul. “I’ve had to put my career plans on hold to take care of Ronni. Once I’ve paid the hospital bills, the physical and mental therapists, school tuition … there won’t be much left.”
“Have you worked out a budget for all that?” Paul asked, sharing a conspiratorial glance with Allan. “I think there should be a significant amount left.”
Lisa turned to look at her boyfriend, his tall, lithe frame spilling out of the uncomfortable chair. Despite the awkwardness of his pose, he was smiling like he’d just won the lottery. He caught her withering look and rearranged his features. “It’s almost a million bucks, Lis.”
“My daughter has lost all her friends. She’s depressed, she’s being bullied … and people stare at her like she’s some sort of monster every time she leaves the apartment.” Lisa turned to Paul now. “Ronni may never recover from this. She may never lead a fully functional life. It’s my job to take care of her.”
Paul said, “Jeff and Kim Sanders don’t have three million liquid.”
“No, but they can get it. They have fancy cars, a fancy house; I think Jeff has a boat… .”
Allan looked over at her. “You want them to sell their house?”
He sounded so stunned, so appalled, like asking Jeff and Kim to downsize a little was akin to torching their grass hut while they slept.
“If that’s what it takes to take care of Ronni, then I guess I do,” she snapped.
Paul said, “There are several alternative disp
ute resolutions available to us: mediation, arbitration, neutral evaluation, a settlement conference… . No one wants this to go to trial.”
“I’m happy to go to trial,” Lisa retorted. “Jeff and Kim are the ones afraid of a trial. They don’t want to expose all their dirty little secrets.”
Paul pressed his lips together for a moment. “Everyone has aspects of their life they’d rather weren’t dragged into the open.”
“I don’t. I mean, nothing that’s relevant to what happened to Ronni that night.”
“Lawyers have a way of twisting things to make them relevant,” Paul admitted.
Allan made some worried noise that Lisa ignored. “Jeff and Kim have never accepted responsibility for what happened. They’ve never apologized to Ronni… . They think they can buy their way out of this, but I won’t let them.”
Paul picked up the papers “All right. I’ll call Candace Sugarman. I’ll tell her where you stand.”
“Three million.” Lisa stood, preparing to leave. “Or we go to trial.”
ALLAN WAS QUIET as they walked back to his truck. They’d parked on a side street, a few blocks away, giving them ample time to stroll in tense silence. Finally, Lisa addressed the palpable hostility. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
She considered letting it go. Being a hard-ass was not her true nature and she found it taxing. But Allan was clearly upset, and she didn’t want to fall out with him right now. He was her only support system in this mess—unless you counted Yeva and the yoga crew who thought Lisa could breathe her way out the other side. She didn’t have the energy to fight Kim and Jeff, and her boyfriend, too. She touched his arm. “You’re upset. Talk to me.”
Allan stopped walking and turned to her. “Eight hundred and fifty grand is not enough money for you?”
“It’s not for me. It’s for Ronni.”
“You act like Ronni will never have a job, never go to school, never be anything but the victim of this fucking accident.”
Lisa was getting riled, but she maintained her composure. “I hope Ronni will go on to have a happy and productive life. I hope this will be nothing but a bad memory one day—but what if it’s not? What if she’ll never be the same Ronni she was? That’s the eventuality I have to deal with.”
The Party Page 18
