Object Me: A Bad Boy Lawyer Romance

by Roxy Sinclaire

  “Get it together.” Dylan whispered into my ear. “Stop making us look like amateurs.”

  Taking a few breaths, I stilled myself. It was already done. I couldn’t go back and change anything.

  I looked over at Frank Stroh and the several lawyers that he had brought along with him. They all sat straight in their chairs each with a smug air of confidence.

  Judge Carl-Ray Bosh explained the proceedings to the jury and then called for opening statements.

  Dylan stood, straightening his jacket and stepped forward from behind the table with sure, measured steps.

  “You can do this.” I encouraged, with a certainty that I didn’t really feel.

  Dylan didn’t acknowledge my cheer but I knew that he had heard me.

  I could only watch with worry and hope that everything would work out in the favor of the firm.

  “I used to believe a saying ‘What you don’t know won’t hurt you’” Dylan started.

  He walked toward the jury and eyed them; making sure to acknowledge the presence of each one.

  “I’m sure most of you have heard that before.” He stated.

  Several of them nodded. Just like that they were hooked. Just like that Dylan had made himself relatable.

  I didn’t understand at first, why he had chosen to have a trial by jury instead of a trial by judge. With a jury, he would have to convince several people versus one judge.

  But sitting here, observing the people watch him, his choice made all of the sense in the world. The varied group of men and women watched with the same curious interest that I did. They fastened on to his movements and mouth as though gold were being spun.

  Dylan placed a hand in his pocket before he began.

  “Brandon Hunter and three hundred others thought that they knew Menory products and prescriptions. Brandon Hunter and three hundred others thought that the information the company published, the clinical trial documentation, the doctor endorsements, and the data describing positive results, were all of the information that Menory had and all that they needed to know.” Dylan dazzled.

  The other lawyer, Frank Stroh sat forward and cleared his throat loudly and purposefully. This did nothing to steal the favorable momentum that Dylan was building, nor did it split the attention of the jury.

  “Brandon Hunter and three hundred others did what people all around the world do every day.” Dylan slowed his pace to emphasize his words. “They took the information provided from various outlets: friends, television, brochures, doctors, and made a decision. They made a decision to trust Menory products with their lives.”

  Dylan looked over at Stroh and his table of associates and then back to toward the jurors.

  “You’ll hear some things today about these people: who they were, who they are, how they were impacted, why they were impacted. Remember that Brandon Hunter and the three hundred others, who either lost their lives or endured a significant loss of life function, did so due to Menory’s muddled research and false perpetuation of product possibilities.”

  There were a few soft grunts of acceptance and nodding heads from both the spectators and the jury.

  Dylan moved his large hand to his chin as though he were thinking.

  “We are not here because a mistake was committed. We are here because a cover up of that mistake was committed. A cover up that denied the families of the victim’s justice and some slight reprieve through compensation.”

  James slid back in without anyone noticing. All eyes were glued to Dylan as he scanned the room.

  “In the matter of Brandon Hunter and the three hundred others, ignorance is not bliss. Not when lives matter. Ignorance due to withheld information, in this case was death or impairment. What a company keeps from you can kill you.”

  Dylan finished amid an electric vibe. The room was humming with thought. In that moment I wished that brains were closed captioned like television. I was in awe, and despite the obvious look of wonder on the faces around me, I still wanted to know exactly what they were thinking.

  Nodding his head and bending forward in a slight bow, Dylan thanked the jurors and judge for listening with an open mind and heart before making his way back to his chair next to me.

  James slid the once forgotten folder over to Dylan with a respectful glance.

  I placed my hand over his arm and he didn’t flinch or retreat.

  “That went well.” I whispered. “You were able to nail all of the points we planned even without the notes.”

  Dylan inhaled deeply and let his hand lay across mine.

  He didn’t say anything, but his touch was enough. I wouldn’t lose him. He may be angry with me, but it would pass.

  Frank Stroh unfolded from the opposing table with a forced smile.

  When he strode past our table toward the jury, he looked toward Dylan with a sneer.

  Stroh was inadequately charismatic. He was expensively dressed but it was more braggadocio than stylish. His brown-dyed hair was gelled, combed over and slicked back. His beady, close set eyes, and weak chin, didn’t compliment his wide nose and beefy neck. I didn’t know the man at all, but before he even spoke, it felt like he was going to tell a lie.

  “I don’t have a lot of pretty words or euphemisms for you today. I can’t recall any special home spun knowledge that applies here.” Frank stopped in front of the jury and took a firm stance. “What I do have for you are the facts.”

  He emphasized the last word with a pound of his fist against his hand.

  I rolled my eyes.

  “My counterpart would lead you to believe that the Menory companies are run by a bunch of heartless liars who would knowingly allow faulty materials and medication to be distributed to innocent, unsuspecting patients.” He pulled up his long crooked pointer finger and threw it in the direction of our table. “This law firm, who stands to make millions from the demise of Menory, wants you to believe that there was a conspiracy to intentionally harm people.”

  Frank let his arm drop and shook his head.

  “As a business man, I wouldn’t do something in direct opposition of my mission statement. As a business man, I wouldn’t do something that could possibly damage my company’s reputation irreparably. Menory has top of the line researchers, years of clinical trials, and mounds of data to support that they produce quality products. The opposition has speculation. The opposition has angry patients. The opposition has a history of going after major companies for major money. Today, you will hear the truth and not tales. You will hear facts and not fiction. You will hear practical data and applied principles and not poetic assumptions based on stories from grieving, disgruntled families.”

  Stroh stopped and scanned the room in a similar fashion that Dylan had earlier. The audience wasn’t as glued to his every word as before, but there was interest.

  “We are here today to make decisions based on the details and not delusions. Listen carefully and I know that you will come to the right conclusion.”

  Frank Stroh missed his calling as a conductor, because after his opening, he directed what seemed like an orchestra of witnesses and documents through the court room as though it were second nature.

  Dylan objected to each and every witness and object presented.

  “We were not properly notified or made aware of such evidence!” he all but yelled at the unwavering judge.

  Frank grinned as he produced yet another courier signature page. “This information was signed for by an employee named Norma.”

  “Objection Overruled.” The judge repeated for what seemed like the millionth time.

  Dylan slammed his hands against the table and pushed himself up.

  “Rules of disclosure require that parties share their own supporting evidence without being requested by the other party. Failure to do so should preclude that evidence from being used.” he huffed.

  “I know the law Mr. Hanson.” The judge drawled out. “You should know your employees and who is signing for documents. And, if you don’t wan
t to get to know the inside of the jail cell, you’ll sit down.”

  I sighed, finally understanding why we couldn’t find anything wrong in the documentation that we had. We didn’t have all of the information.

  Every witness and piece of information that Stroh provided made it seem as though Sherry Hunter knowingly gave her husband an overdose of the Menory drug and killed him for the life insurance. The nurses that testified couldn’t account for medication and verified the times that Sherry was alone with Brandon Hunter in regards to his death. The case fell apart quickly. Brandon Hunter was the string that tied everything together, and once his death was unraveled as a murder, all of the other cases dissolved as well.

  Menory won. It was over and we had lost.

  Chapter 16

  Dylan

  The steering wheel felt the wrath of my fist when I banged my hand against it at the red light.

  “This is bullshit!” I hissed, but refrained from hitting the hard steering wheel again. I wanted to detach it from the column in place of Stroh’s head.

  I had been so sure of winning this morning that I actually drove to the court house instead of taking the car and driver. I had planned to be celebrating a victory today in the usual tradition.

  Yvette placed her cool hand over mine.

  I had almost forgotten that she was in the car. Frustration had almost consumed me. Almost. Whenever she was near me, I could feel her. Sense her being. She was a hum of soothing sweetness to the anxious frenzy that tormented me most often.

  “It’s alright.” she spoke in whispered words as her gaze met mine.

  “We lost.” I yelled. “The firm lost. He lost. Those people lost.”

  So many individuals were counting on me today. The Hunter family, those who had been wronged in the process of trying to make their health right all of them had needed me to win.

  The bite of the loss coursed through me like venom the entire ride home.

  I entered the home in a mood, ready to steam roll over anything or anyone that dared to cross me.

  Yvette was behind me, a quiet yet steady presence. She followed behind me to my office without a word.

  “Bring coffee.” I bellowed to the staff before entering my home office. It didn’t matter who heard the command. The right ears would hear from whatever staff had received the information. Someone would bring what I had requested, if they knew what was best.

  I slammed the door behind me, the force of it nearly shaking the wall.

  Yvette opened the door calmly, and moved through it with narrowed eyes.

  “You almost took off my face.” she huffed.

  “Maybe you should take your face elsewhere.” I growled.

  I stalked across the room to my desk where the files that I kept for the Menory case were. Everything regarding the case, I threw across the floor.

  “Waste of time.” I muttered with each toss of paper.

  “Calm down.” Yvette said.

  “Stupid waste of time.” I added throwing more.

  “It’s all right.” she confirmed, moving closer to me.

  I let my hand pound down against the desk with a ferocious force.

  “Stop saying that.” I protested. “It’s not all right.”

  Just then the door swung open and Jenkins stepped through with a tray of coffee.

  “Get out.” I barked.

  Jenkins reversed through the door with a slight nod of his head in apology.

  “Well that was rude.” Yvette huffed plopping her hands on her hips.

  “Why don’t you follow him?” I snarled. Her persistent nagging was becoming annoying.

  “No.” She defied, moving dangerously closer.

  There was a storm raging through my body, meandering through my brain, and I had to keep myself from choking out words that could hurt her.

  “You should leave.” I warned through gritted teeth. I knew that things would only get worse from here. There were no barriers to my anger, no shields against my rage.

  “I’m not going anywhere until you stop acting like a two year old.” she spat back. “So you lost this case. You’ve won hundreds more.”

  I swiped my arm across the desk knocking everything but my computer onto floor all at once. Folders fell. Papers scattered. My phone plopped. I couldn’t have cared less about any of those things in that moment.

  “But THIS case mattered more.” I yelled. My chest heaved in exasperation. I couldn’t understand what had happened. I had been blindsided by Stroh and his underhanded tactics. I should have been ready. I should have known better.

  “Why?” she asked, calmly disregarding my temper. “Why was this case so important?” Her face was solemn but carried a light sense of concern and was as sweet as always.

  “It’s over.” I grumbled.

  I looked for something else to attack. A folder, a book, a wall, anything. I needed a release, something to topple the mountain of frustration that sat on my chest.

  “It’s not over.” she countered. “You are still a lawyer. You still have your firm—”

  “His firm.” I cut her off. “It’s still his firm. I win the cases. I make the money. I make shit happen there, and it’s still his firm.”

  I sighed. Then I spotted something. Lying on the floor in the clutter of things from my desk was a name plate. The first one I had ever had. The one my father had given me to sit on my small desk in his huge office when I was a child. When I had enjoyed sitting by his side making pretend phone calls and scribbling across large yellow legal pads.

  I plucked the name plate from the heap on the floor.

  Yvette watched me while I eyed it.

  “I remember a time when I couldn’t wait to work for my father and then with my father.” I told her.

  She moved closer to me. Yvette didn’t say any words, but some of the tension released from her body. Her hand fell against my cheek gingerly while her eyes searched me.

  “This was the first gift that he actually bought me.” I explained.

  I caught the warm look that Yvette gave me.

  “Everything else was an afterthought, some gift his secretary picked up, but this name plate was all him. He had a desk custom built for me in his office and when he put that name plate down, he was so proud of me.”

  “Goals change as you grow Dylan. People change.” Her words were quiet but strong. “Winning this case wouldn’t have changed how he viewed you.”

  I shirked away from her touch.

  “I’m not that little boy anymore. I’m tired of being in his shadow, tired of him not respecting that I am my own man.”

  “I see that. Others at the firm know it.” she spoke carefully. “Who are you trying to prove it to?”

  Her question caught me off guard, causing a barrage of other questions to cascade through my brain.

  Yvette moved her face forward with a quiet assurance and took over my mouth. Her kiss was soft yet intense with need. A need to calm me down. Her resolve to calm my fluster of nerves apparent.

  “I love the man that you are.” she cooed.

  I pushed against her with a sudden implacable desire. I moved her against the wall, pinning her body in place for my taking.

  “I told you to leave.” I rumbled into her open mouth. Her pouty lips falling atop of my tongue with movement of my mouth.

  She linked her leg around my waist and took a loose grip of my hair.

  “And I told you to calm down.” she hissed through the soft lips strategically placed near my ear.

  She kissed my mouth again, harder this time, but slower. I allowed her tongue to filter through my mouth as currents of desire trickled through me.

  I moved away from her mouth to her neck and shoulder.

  In one movement, her blouse received the brunt of my agitation, as I ripped it from her body. My lips moved across her chest with hard sucks and soft bites

  “Don’t be angry, fuck me.” she moaned.

  I did.

  Later, Yvette laid satisf
ied in sleep, cocooned in a blue afghan on my office sofa. She had been successful in tempering the tidal wave of anger that I had been feeling. I was still frustrated, but her interruption allowed me to shift my focus. I had been wallowing in the loss. Somehow my mind had forgotten that a retreat does not equal defeat. The other side had played all of their cards, and now that I know how they stacked the deck, I could sweep in and win the next hand.

  Yvette mumbled something in her sleep and rolled over.

  Her fitful sleep made me laugh. Her presence in general had brought me joy, I realized.

  Yvette had reminded me to focus on a solution rather than the problem.

  There was no way that Sherry Hunter had killed her husband. I had interviewed her during deposition and mock cross examined her myself a dozen times. Each time that she was before me, she told the story of her husband’s demise with the same sad eyes and grief strained voice.

  I remembered the way her full face brightened when she recalled how they had met one day in a dog park. Their respective pets had felt the attraction first, tangling their leashes and setting their owners up for a life long journey. She had beamed at the recollection of how the tide had erased part of his sand written declaration of love and request for marriage during a Florida vacation. She shined whenever she spoke his name, emitted love when she explained how he fought to beat illness, and choked back tears before the mention of how he had succumbed to the affliction. Sherry Hunter had loved her husband. She was not his killer.

  I looked over at the sleeping woman on my sofa.

  She stirred and then scrunched tighter into the blanket.

  Watching her warmed me. There was no hiding or pretending with her. She had seen the unkind side of me and didn’t waver. She had tried to make me feel better, tried to distract my mind from the weight of losing the case. I can’t remember a time when any other woman had cared to do anything for me without an agenda or wanting something in return.

  Sherry Hunter had seen her husband at his best and at his worst. Even in his death, she supported him. I could see that same faithfulness in Yvette. If anything were to happen to me, I would want someone to fight for me with the same ferocity that Sherry had for Brandon.