Icebreaker

by Deirdre Martin

  The partners exchanged glances.

  “This person claims to have seen you two together outside the office.”

  The only thing she could figure out was that one of the law firm’s competitors saw them at the karaoke bar, at Maxie’s, or at Basilica, and had gotten the wrong idea. Not that it was any of their damn business. But the legal community could be extremely cutthroat, especially when it came to someone like Sinead, who’d risen up through the ranks quickly and had an impeccable reputation both inside and outside the office.

  “We’ve met several times outside the office for dinner to discuss the case,” Sinead explained evenly. “Adam is more helpful when he’s relaxed. Haven’t you found the same to be true with some clients?”

  They all agreed yes, that was true.

  Sinead was itching to tell them that her personal life was none of their business, but she resisted. “I’m a professional. I can separate my work life from my private life.”

  Jeff tilted back in his chair. “You have always been the consummate professional, Sinead, and nothing but an asset to this office. I hope you can forgive us for questioning you about this. We just had to make sure.”

  “Of course.” Of course it doesn’t matter when you screw your clients. You don’t even have relationships with them. It’s just sex.

  Well, I told the truth, Sinead thought as she walked back to her office. I’m not seeing Adam. The difference was, when the case wrapped, he wouldn’t be there waiting for her. No one would be.

  20

  “Oh, man.” Anthony was laughing so hard he was wiping tears from his eyes as he switched off the DVD player. “I do believe that is their finest work.”

  “Agreed,” said Adam. The two had just finished a three-hour Stooge marathon, culminating in the classic episode “Punch Drunk,” in which a pugilistic Curly goes berserk every time he hears the tune, “Pop Goes the Weasel.” Adam couldn’t count how many times he’d seen it, but it cracked him up every time. Today, however, he was laughing less than usual, and he knew why.

  “Another brew?” Anthony asked.

  “Sure, why not?”

  “Comin’ right up.”

  Anthony headed for the kitchen, leaving Adam alone in Anthony’s living room. It was a place where Adam felt welcome. Cozy, lots of bookshelves, many of them filled with cookbooks. A picture of Anthony and Vivi on their wedding day. A photo of Michael, Theresa, and their kids. Adam made a mental note to call Rick. They hadn’t talked in a while.

  Anthony emerged from the kitchen, tossing him a beer. “I still can’t believe Vivi and Sinead won’t give the Stooges a chance.”

  “Yeah, well . . .” Adam cracked open his beer, pouring some down his throat. Anthony was eyeballing him closely.

  “Got a bit of a dark one on today, eh?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean you’ve looked like a miserable prick from the minute you walked in the door. What’s goin’ on?”

  Adam shrugged. “Ah, you know . . . just shit.”

  “The lawsuit?”

  “Yeah, that, and other shit.” He took another sip of beer.

  “Girlfriend shit?”

  “Yeah,” Adam admitted reluctantly. He really wasn’t in the mood to talk about it, but he knew what a pushy bastard Anthony was: he wouldn’t let up until Adam gave him a complete report.

  Adam unenthusiastically recounted what had gone down between him and Sinead. Anthony closed his eyes while Adam talked, nodding occasionally like an old priest hearing confession. When Adam was done, Anthony’s eyed popped open and he announced, “You’re wrong on this one, bro.”

  “What?”

  “Listen: you work with guys and only guys. Level playing field. That’s not how it is in the real world. Wanna know why Vivi left Paris, the supposed gastronomic capital of the world?”

  “Why?”

  “Because being a chef there is a man’s game. Female chefs don’t get treated with the same respect, not only by the public, but also among chefs themselves. It’s double-standard bullshit, and she didn’t want to deal with it. So she came here.”

  “What’s this got to do with me?”

  “It’s the same with Sinead,” Anthony reasoned. “Didn’t you say she’s the only female partner in her firm?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then she must have to bust her balls to be taken seriously. I’ll bet you anything that she makes less than a guy doing the same job.”

  “Look, get off your feminist soapbox, okay?” Adam was annoyed. “She has a chance to call these guys on their double standard, but instead, she’s willing to put us on ice.”

  Anthony snorted. “Oh, boo-fucking-hoo. What if she calls them on their shit and she loses her job? Who’s gonna support her? You?”

  Adam glared at him.

  “If you stick to your guns, you get respect,” Anthony continued. “If she sticks to her guns and continues seeing you, she gets canned. It’s as simple as that.”

  “It’s not right,” Adam insisted.

  “No shit,” said Anthony, looking at him like he was a moron. “But that’s how it is. If that’s what she needs to do to survive politically, who the hell are you to tell her you’re disappointed in her? And it’s not as if she’s dumping you; it’s just a temporary split.”

  “It’s an issue of integrity.”

  “She is maintaining her integrity! She broke up with you so when they put her on the hot seat, she’s not lying about it.”

  Adam frowned. “It’s splitting hairs.”

  “That’s what attorneys do. They split hairs,” Anthony said heatedly. “Man, I don’t know how she didn’t pop you one. Seriously. I know things are really clear on the ice and in the locker room. But outside that frozen cocoon you and my brother work in, the world’s not black and white. You were an asshole.”

  Adam was silent. Up until now, he hadn’t second-guessed himself regarding his conversation with Sinead. But Anthony was messing with his ability to think clearly. It’s not a black-and-white world, asshole. But that’s how he’d always viewed things.

  Adam gulped down a slug of beer, eyeing his friend warily. “What would you do if you were me? And it better not involve making a flourless torte.”

  Anthony didn’t hesitate. “I’d go to see her, swallow a huge piece of humble pie, tell her I understand why she has to do this, and that I’ll wait for her.”

  “I know her,” Adam said ruefully. “She’ll tell me to take a hike.”

  “You’d deserve it.”

  Adam shot him a dirty look.

  “For a guy who prides himself on being the king of the ice, you seem to be a bit frightened by the lady,” observed Anthony. “WWMD: what would Moe do? That’s what you need to ask yourself.”

  “Moe would get her in a headlock and take a hammer to her skull,” Adam deadpanned. “I’m not sure that would go over too well with Sinead.”

  “Then apologize. It’s that simple.”

  “I’m just telling you to watch your ass, Oliver.”

  Sinead tried to ignore the dismissive frown on her friend’s face as she told him what Jeff had said at their meeting this morning: that they didn’t want her bringing Oliver into the loop on Joyce Toys, and that they’d made some subtle comments about partners who lack discretion.

  “I do have too much on my plate,” said Oliver. He pointed at a stack of manila folders on his desk. “See those babies? I haven’t even looked at them yet.”

  “It was the way he said ‘too much,’ ” said Sinead. “Like an insinuation. Like it wasn’t about workload.”

  “Here, I can use ‘too much’ in a sentence, too: You worry too much.”

  “And you worry too little,” Sinead shot back. “I swear to God, if you get canned, I’ll shoot myself.”

  “I’m not gonna get canned, baby doll. I’m the firm’s star litigator. Have been for years. I pull their asses out of the fire all the time.”

  “Just watch it, okay? Seriously.”
r />   “If it doth pleaseth my lady, I will.” He slicked back his hair with his hand. It didn’t much help. He still looked slightly unkempt.

  “Want a comb?” Sinead offered.

  “Nah, don’t need one.”

  “Let me at least fix your tie. It looks like a chimp knotted it.”

  “Fine, fine.” Oliver sat down next to her on the couch, chin up, while Sinead began fixing his tie. “How’d my plan go over with Adam?”

  “That’s a dangerous question, considering my hands are so close to your neck.”

  Oliver looked taken aback. “What happened?”

  “I ran the plan by him, and he blew a gasket, telling me this was my big chance to stand up to the partners, blah blah blah. He actually told me I was gutless and that he was disappointed in me. Long story short, it’s over.”

  “Whoah, whoah, whoah.” Oliver stilled her hands on his neck. “He said those things to you? You?”

  “Yup.” Sinead hated thinking about it.

  “Sounds like he needs a good Oliver Casey ass kicking if you ask me.”

  Sinead’s nerves jumped. “Please don’t do that, Oliver. You would just end up bleeding all over the office. Besides, I’m still working on his case, remember?”

  Oliver frowned. “Forgot.”

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t.” She was just finishing with his tie when there was a short knock, and Jeff Kaplan stuck his head in the door.

  “Good to see someone is making sure you look halfway presentable in court this morning,” he remarked to Oliver.

  “Mornin’, Jeff,” Oliver said cheerily.

  “Still haven’t hired a new secretary?”

  “In the process,” said Oliver collegially. Which Sinead knew was a lie.

  Jeff was unsmiling. “Try not to drive the next one away, please.”

  “Will do.”

  Jeff turned his attention to Sinead. “Got a minute?”

  “Of course.”

  “Catch you on the rebound, snookyookums,” Oliver said to Sinead with a delicate wave of his fingers as she started out the door behind Jeff.

  Sinead looked over her shoulder and glared at him. His response was to blow her a kiss. Sinead just shook her head. Her mother’s expression for Oliver was “a pip.” And he was. Life without Oliver would be terribly boring.

  Uneasiness overtook her as she walked alongside Jeff. Maybe they’d discussed it among themselves and decided they didn’t believe her. She hoped not.

  “You and Oliver are close,” Jeff noted casually.

  “We are.”

  “Do you have any pull with him?”

  Sinead gave a short laugh. “Not really. What’s up?”

  Jeff pressed his lips into a hard line. “A number of people have remarked to me that they’ve seen Oliver falling-down drunk on several occasions. That doesn’t reflect well on the firm.”

  Sinead hesitated a moment. “Between you and me, Jeff, I thought Oliver had special dispensation. Kind of.”

  “To a point,” said Jeff tersely. “We knowingly put up with a great deal from Oliver; but his drinking and womanizing are getting out of hand.”

  “I see.” Sinead felt embarrassed for her friend.

  “If you could talk to him and tell him he’s got to tone it down a bit, we’d really appreciate it. We’d even pay for him to go to rehab. We don’t want to lose him.”

  “I’ll do what I can,” Sinead promised. Oliver would have a fit.

  She thought that was all, so she was surprised when Jeff ushered her into his office. Twice in one day.

  “Sit.”

  Jeff’s cordial expression turned serious. “I had Thomas print out the billings by partner spreadsheet.” Thomas was Jeff’s longtime paralegal.

  “Yes?”

  Jeff looked uncomfortable. “Your billing was the lowest.”

  “Oh.” Sinead didn’t know what to say.

  “Sinead, I know you like to help out ‘the little man,’ as it were. But you’ve taken on too many charity cases this year. We need you to take on more corporate work, like the Perry case and Joyce Toys. Don, Terry, and I would like you to make an effort to close out your lower-billing cases as soon as possible. Settle and bargain if you have to.”

  “I see.” It all comes down to money, Sinead thought. Always has. But isn’t that why you got into law? As a way to make sure you’d never, ever have to struggle the way your parents did?

  “Your problem is you’ve got a big heart,” Jeff said warmly. “How many people from your old neighborhood still owe us money for legal work you’ve done for them?”

  Sinead squirmed. “A few. But I know they’re good for it, Jeff. Believe me.”

  “I’m sure they are. But I need you available to work on bigger cases. Especially with our primary litigator being so . . . busy.”

  “I see,” Sinead said again quietly. “I promise I’ll try to wrap those cases up as soon as possible, Jeff.”

  Her boss smiled at her. “I know you will. You’ve never let us down.”

  21

  Anticipation and fear. Those were the emotions battling for dominance as Adam and the Blades sat on the bench waiting for Esa Saari, who was ten minutes late to afternoon practice. At first it was clear that everyone felt sheer annoyance; but the longer the minutes ticked on, the more anxious the players became. Coach Dante could have let them out on the ice to warm up while they all waited, but he wanted to make the point both to Saari and the team that when one of them screwed up, it screwed everyone else up. Inwardly, Adam was enraged. But outwardly, his demeanor was detached.

  Little shit. Saari’s continued and flagrant disregard for the Blades and the sport of hockey itself was incomprehensible to Adam, especially after the dressing down he’d already received. Did the kid really think that being an extraordinary player allowed him to be a self-centered, egotistical jerk? Saari had been good about keeping his name out of the gossip pages, but there was still a smugness about him that Adam was determined to expunge.

  Adam glanced at Michael, who was standing by the locker room door, his face red with fury. He motioned Adam over. “I wanna break that fuckin’ little farabutto’s neck.”

  “Yeah, I hear ya,” Adam said grimly. “Not that I know what farabutto means.”

  “You don’t wanna know, believe me,” said Michael, his dark eyes flashing. “The fucker is lucky Ty isn’t here today. He wouldn’t make it from the door of his car to the rink alive.” Michael grimaced, digging his fingers into the back of his neck to massage it. “I’m going to lock the doors. Send a message.”

  “I have an idea,” Adam offered. “Let him come in here and see how his disrespect impacts everyone. He’ll get to see the resentment in their eyes.”

  “He’s got five minutes to see resentment. Then I lock the door and he’s fined and benched.” Michael checked his watch again. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered.

  “Take some deep breaths,” Adam urged. “I don’t want you throwing an embolism before he gets here.”

  “Speaking of embolisms, that dipshit Rawson paid a visit to Ty again.”

  “What did he want this time?”

  “Same crap. ‘Adam should tone it down, blah blah blah.’ I swear to Christ, you’d think they’d get it through their skulls by now it isn’t gonna happen. I guess they think they can grind us down.” Michael shook his head. “Morons.” He regarded Adam pensively. “Any idea how your case is going?”

  “It’s going,” Adam muttered.

  “Anthony said you’re getting a little tired of it dragging on.”

  “Yeah, I am, but what can you do?” Sometimes Adam forgot that Anthony was his coach’s brother. It was weird for Adam to hear Michael recount stuff he’d told Ant when they were just hanging out.

  “Stooges aren’t helping your mood?” Michael ribbed.

  Despite his mounting anger, Adam actually managed a grin. “A bit.”

  Michael touched his head. “I got a new haircut. My brother’s an idiot, right? I don’
t look like Moe.”

  “Not at all.”

  “He’s such a gavone.”

  Murmuring among the players came to an abrupt halt as Esa Saari came strolling out of the locker room. He acknowledged Michael and Adam with a pleasant nod. “ Mornin’, Coach. Captain.”

  “Get your fucking Finnish ass to the bench,” Michael growled, striding purposefully toward Esa. Michael’s eyes were blazing, the look on his face the same he used to make when he was a winger heading into the corners on a forecheck.

  Adam thought Michael was seconds away from lunging at Saari, so he decided to intervene. “Coach, do you mind if we have a brief players-only meeting? I think the players might like to talk this out among themselves before you get involved.”

  Michael Dante started to calm down. He didn’t say anything. He simply walked over to the bench, picked up a stick, looked to see whose it was, then put it back. Finding the one with Saari’s number on it, Michael pulled it out, held it in his hands for a moment, and then in a flash broke it in half over the boards, tossing the splintered parts onto the ice.

  “Five minutes,” Michael told Adam, storming into the locker room.

  Adam walked slowly toward the bench, his eyes drilling a smoking hole into Saari’s broad chest. Though he didn’t let it show on his face, he was pleased to see the team was eyeing their teammate with unabashed resentment. “Sorry I’m late, dudes,” Saari told them. “Forgot to set my alarm.”

  “Yeah right,” said Eric Mitchell, just audibly.

  Saari turned to Adam. “Sorry I’m late, Cap,” he said, looking sheepish but not sheepish enough to be believed. “I forgot to set my alarm. I know it’s a bullshit excuse, but it’s true. You can fine me as much as you want.”

  Adam just stared at him. He could feel the tension emanating from the bench tauten. They were waiting for him to tear Saari a new one. But Adam decided to approach it differently this time.

  “I’m not going to fine you,” Adam said, which seemed to throw Saari momentarily. “What I’m going to do is have you meet me at the Wild Hart tomorrow night at seven sharp.”

  “I have a date—”