by Nicole Casey
“This is ridiculous,” Angeline interjected. “I know why you called this meeting Vern and it is pointless, I assure you.”
“Angeline, I would prefer to wait for Ryerson – “
“Furthermore,” she continued. “I don’t like being contradicted and second-guessed by the very people whom I am paying to protect my interests. If I wanted to be undermined, I would simply remain married to Rye now, wouldn’t I?”
Her steely green eyes bored into Vern’s and I watched as he balked somewhat.
“I assure you, Angeline, that is the last thing we want to do. You and your family have been longstanding clients with Kilpatrick-Campbell – “
“And I would prefer to keep it as such.”
Abruptly she rose from her chair and it was only then that I realized I was still standing, almost gawking at her larger than life personality.
“And as usual, Rye cannot be bothered to honor an appointment where I am involved. You would think he would care more about his money,” Angeline continued, and I found myself listening not to her clipped words but the underlying sadness in her voice.
She doesn’t want to do this, I realized, my head turning toward Draven to see if he had caught the same thing I had but he wasn’t paying attention to me.
A bemused expression had formed on his face and I understood that he was suddenly counting the dollar signs involved with the case before us.
Well, he’s over the conflict of interest issue, I thought, watching as Angeline Sterling strolled toward the door, Vern making way to allow her through.
“Mrs. Sterling,” Vern pleaded. “Please think about how this will – “
“Am I late?”
Ryerson Sterling appeared in the doorway, half-smiling at the room until his cornflower blue eyes rested on his wife where they suddenly became unreadable.
“Is that rhetorical, Ryerson?” Angeline snapped. “Of course you’re late. You’ve never been on time for anything in your life.”
I felt myself instantly growing protective of the man.
After all, he was technically my client unless Vern could convince them otherwise and so far, the senior partner was 0 for 1.
“Mr. Sterling,” Vern said quickly. “Please come and sit down. I wanted to meet with you both so that you might reevaluate your position about having two attorneys – “
“Oh for the love of God, Vern. You are beginning to sound like a broken record. The answer is no, we are not backing down. We are both staying with your firm!” Angeline cried, throwing her hands up in disgust. “I do hate repeating myself.”
“Angeline, you gave up the right to speak for me when you left six months ago,” Ryerson said coldly.
“Well, I have shut up for far too long, Rye!” Angeline snorted. “And if I want to talk, you misogynistic horse’s ass, I will speak.”
“Mr. Archer, going forward, I believe that you should have your client direct her comments to me or you, don’t you agree?” I told Draven, but my eyes lingered on the surreal blonde, sensing her ire at my words.
Angeline’s emerald irises became slits of fury as her gaze raked over my body, but I held her icy stare.
“I will speak with whomever I wish,” she spat at me. “You will not dictate to me whom I can or cannot speak!”
I shrugged nonchalantly.
“As long as you understand that everything you say will go on record toward the proceedings,” I replied evenly. “You may wish to reconsider what you say as it can be used to our advantage.”
It was not my first rodeo with an irate spouse. She couldn’t intimidate me, no matter how hard she tried.
She would do well to heed my friendly advice, I thought with some smugness.
“This meeting is off the record,” Vern announced, stepping between us and casting me a warning look.
I smiled sweetly at him and watched as he ushered Angeline from the conference room, shooting me a scathing look over his shoulder.
Ryerson turned to me and grinned.
“Ah,” he said happily, extending his hand and pumping my palm heartily. “I see I got the better man despite Angeline’s attempt at trickery. Ryerson Sterling. You must be Yvette Viera. Your reputation precedes you and for someone so young, I must say I am very impressed with your track record, Ms. Viera. I have several friends who sing your praises.”
My beam broadened, and I returned his enthusiastic handshake.
“It is a pleasure, sir,” I told him sincerely, barely looking over to where Draven stood. “But please do call me Yve.”
Draven’s mouth had tightened into a fine line of annoyance and for some reason, it gave me a shiver of excitement.
“Mr. Archer, this meeting is privileged between us. Would you mind giving us the room?” I chirped.
He cleared his throat and nodded, lowering his grey eyes quickly as if hoping I didn’t catch his discontent but it was too late.
“Mr. Archer,” Ryerson called after him and Draven paused.
“Yes, sir?”
“May the best man win,” the media mogul said, a hard grin falling on his face.
Draven studied Ryerson’s face for a long moment before offering a weak smile.
But when he spoke, he looked at me and his words sent a chill through me.
“Of course,” he replied. “All’s fair in love in war, right Mr. Sterling?”
Ryerson chuckled, and Draven turned to leave.
It was only then that I remembered it was my day to bring coffee and for the first time since we had started our tradition, I had forgotten.
5
Draven
I couldn’t say why I felt uncharacteristically uncomfortable as Angeline Sterling peered at me with her cold, green eyes.
After all, I had dealt with the wealthy at Kilpatrick-Campbell many times. The firm only handled high-end clients. I was accustomed to all their sneers and deadpan expressions.
But there was something different about the way Angeline stared at me.
Like she was plotting my death.
I cleared my throat.
“Well,” I started, hoping to break the heavy silence hanging over my office. “I’m sorry about all that.”
She scoffed and reached into her purse, pulling out a pack of Virginia slim cigarettes, lighting one before I could reconcile what she was doing.
“You can’t smoke in here!” I protested but she either did not hear me or chose to ignore me.
“Vern is a fool,” she said, exhaling a puff of smoke toward me and I cringed, unsure of what to say to deter her from continuing.
She’s going to set off the sprinklers, I thought, partially losing myself in the idea of water pouring over her perfectly coifed frame.
I had to admit, it would be borderline arousing to see Angeline Sterling drenched and furious.
“Mrs. Sterling – “
“Stop calling me that!” she snapped, leaning forward, her eyes flashing with even more malice than before. “I am not a Sterling, not anymore.”
Again, I was at a loss for words, but she saved me from having to speak.
“Call me Angeline for now. If things go well, you may call me Angie. If they do not, you may call me Ms. Voigt as you wave goodbye from the airport.”
“The airport?” I asked, not quite following. “Are we headed somewhere?”
“Yes, I imagine you will have to move to Canada because you will never work in the States again if we don’t come out on top here.”
I cringed at the naked threat, but I forced a tight smile.
“I’m not a big fan of hockey,” I replied flippantly.
“Then you best not fail me,” she bit back.
It was not how I envisioned our relationship blossoming, but I tried to reason that Angeline was going through a great deal of stress.
Threats were all she had to assert her authority.
This was another thing I had seen before.
Divorces brought out the worst in people.
I’m sure
underneath that frigid exterior is a hurt little girl, I thought, sitting back in my chair, struggling to evaluate Angeline but she could not be pigeonholed, it was obvious.
“Why don’t we discuss your demands,” I sighed, realizing that trying to figure out my newest client was going to be like unraveling a mass of tangled twine.
She was not a simple woman and I could sense this was not going to be an easy case.
There was no infidelity, at least none that I had learned. Angeline had filed the proceedings citing irreconcilable differences and Ryerson had not suggested anything of the sort.
That would be all well and good if they would both be happy to walk away with what they had walked into the union carrying but of course, life could not be that smooth.
“I want it all,” she said flatly. “I don’t want him to have a pot to piss in.”
I almost laughed aloud and to my chagrin, she caught my amusement.
“I knew that I should have asked Vern for the woman attorney,” she spat, and I instantly lost the half-smile on my face. “She would not find this so entertaining, I’m sure.”
Bristling, I sat forward, folding my hands tightly before me.
“I am perfectly capable of handling your case, Mrs. – “
I saw her look before I finished and felt a heat rise into my cheeks.
“…Angeline,” I continued. “But you have to understand that Mr. Sterling is a self-made man. No matter how many years you’ve been married, he is still likely to walk away from this relatively unscathed.”
“That’s another thing,” she said as if I hadn’t spoken. “He has offshore accounts in the Caymans. I expect you to find them and I want those numbers also.”
“Of course,” I said, a now familiar feeling of worry filling my gut.
As if on cue, the sensation of a hole burning began in the pit of my stomach.
If there had been any doubt before, it was gone now; my ulcer was back and apt to get worse.
She rose from the chair and I did the same but in protest.
We hadn’t even scratched the surface of our meeting.
“Mrs. – Angeline,” I started but she was already reaching for her coat, draped over the rack near my office door.
“I trust you are competent to see this through,” she told me in a tone which suggested she did not possess much faith in her words.
It was a rhetorical statement and she was gone before I had formulated an answer.
Why couldn’t I have gotten Ryerson? I moaned silently. She’s going to be a royal pain in the ass.
But I would do as I was told.
I reasoned that if I did a good enough job, there might even be a promotion involved for me.
Senior partner had a delicious ring to it.
Slowly, I sank back into my chair and stared at the mound of paperwork on my desk.
I had a lot to do for Angeline alone, never mind the other open cases I had going.
I was going to need some help.
There was a tentative knock on the door.
“Not a good time!” I yelled but that didn’t stop the door from swinging inward.
I felt my back stiffen as Yvette walked inside.
She had embarrassed me in front of Vern, Angeline and Ryerson Sterling earlier in the conference room, but I didn’t want her to know I was still annoyed.
We were lawyers; we thrived off the weaknesses of others and if Yve sensed I was irritated, she would use it to her advantage.
It was odd to think of her as an enemy suddenly since we had worked together for years but I knew her better than to think she regarded the Sterling affair as anything other than a battle which needed to be won.
That was what made her such a good attorney.
“I saw the ice princess leave,” she said, taking a seat without being asked. “You’ve got your work cut out for you.”
“I’m busy, Yvette,” I told her, my tone more clipped than I had intended.
She eyed me, her cerulean eyes widening slightly.
“You’re mad,” she said slowly but she made no move to rise from her spot.
I stifled a sigh.
“No,” I replied flatly. “I just have a lot of work to do.”
She nodded and suddenly I realized there was something different about her.
“You cut your hair!”
It was a very flattering look for her and I found myself softening slightly as I studied her face closely.
A small smirk formed on her rosebud lips.
“I did. That doesn’t change the fact that you’re mad at me.”
“I’m not mad at you, Yve,” I insisted. “I know, it’s nothing personal.”
Again, she bobbed her head.
“I’m glad you can see that. Anyway, I’ll make it up to you tomorrow,” she told me. “I’ve got a lot on my mind and I got distracted.”
“What?” I asked, my eyes narrowing. “What are you talking about?”
It was her turn to look perplexed.
“Coffee. I forgot to get coffee this morning.”
My mouth parted slightly, and I stared at her.
The last thing on my mind had been our daily ritual but realizing that she had also forgotten coffee only added insult to injury.
“If you’re not upset about that, what are you mad about?” she demanded.
No sooner had the words left her lips did understanding flood her face.
“You’re pissed off because of what I said to Angeline Sterling?”
I felt my lips purse into a line, but I didn’t answer.
I could already feel her scoffing at me and I didn’t want to engage.
“Yvette, I really don’t have time for this,” I said firmly, turning my attention to the files on my desk.
To my aggravation, she remained in her spot, watching me with intelligent eyes.
It’s like she is researching my soul, I thought with some annoyance. Why is she looking at me like that?
“Drave, this is a case. We are opposing counsel now,” she said as if this was news to me. “You can’t take things to heart.”
My fists clenched, and I gritted my teeth.
“I am not taking anything to heart,” I snapped. “And I know this is work.”
“I hope so,” she sighed. “And if you’re concerned about Angeline liking me more because of the Fowler case – “
“I am not concerned about anything except getting my damned work done, Yvette!” I barked.
Deliberately, she rose to her feet, a small sneer forming on her lips.
“Ah,” she muttered. “There’s the Draven I know. It took a while, but I knew that attitude of yours would rear its ugly head again.”
My teeth were clenched together so hard, I was sure they were going to break.
“You don’t know me, Yve,” I snarled. “Not like you used to.”
She laughed shortly, turning to the door.
“A leopard never changes its spots, Draven.”
She walked out of the office, leaving me fuming.
Who the hell does she think she is? I am not the same stupid boy who fell for her when we were kids. I am a confident man, an attorney with a stellar reputation.
It took me five minutes before I understood the source of my anger and the understanding almost made me choke.
Forget that Yvette had exerted her power in the conference room or that Angeline Sterling had questioned my abilities in front of everyone.
What was troubling me the most was how similar my client was to opposing counsel.
Oh my God! Angeline Sterling is Yvette in thirty years.
My tummy rumbled, and I winced at the pain.
Suddenly I was very aware of the fact I had no caffeine on my desk.
It was probably for the best, given the violent stabs of protest in my gut.
The office was becoming unbearably small.
There was nothing I couldn’t do from home that day and the more I thought about it, the more appealing my couch w
as becoming.
I was going home.
I would start fresh again on Monday morning.
The cobwebs of sleep were clearing from my mind and I rolled to the side, reaching for Yvette but my fingers only wrapped around the duvet as my eyes opened reluctantly.
Grey light fought its way into the minuscule studio apartment and blearily, I sat up.
“Yve?” I called but there was no response.
I could see our entire unit from where I lay on our double bed and the door to the bathroom was wide open.
Flipping back around, I peered at the clock on my night table.
It wasn’t even seven o’clock yet.
Where could she be?
The first stirrings of panic tickled my stomach and I slipped out of the warm bed, a cold draft assaulting me as I did.
Did I leave the bathroom window open again? Yve is going to kill me, I thought, padding across the unfinished wood floor to close it.
When I entered the closet-sized room, my eyes rested on the sink where one toothbrush sat, conspicuously alone.
Mine.
As if in a trance, I opened the medicine cabinet and my fears were confirmed.
Her belongings were gone, just like the shirts and underwear in her dresser and it didn’t take me long to find the engagement ring atop the scarred piece of furniture, accenting a “Dear John” letter like a neon sign.
My fingers closed around it and I tried to read it, but I barely understood what it said.
They didn’t make sense despite the eloquence of the words.
We want different things…we are always fighting…your temper scares me sometimes…talking always ends up in a blowout…I have decided to attend law school at UNC…please don’t contact me…move on with your life and I will move on with mine…focus on what’s important – your career…you may not believe this, but I will always love you…maybe if we had met at a different time…
The letter fluttered from my hands like a cliché in a bad movie and I slumped to the floor crossed legged and stared at the wall.
The check for her share of the next two months of rent fell to my side.
I have no idea how long I sat there, not from any comprehensive sense of time anyway.
The fog never really lifted, not after I managed to dress and leave the apartment, Yve’s check in hand.
