by R. C. Martin
Shaking my head clear, I set aside the article—as well as my preconceived ideas about my boss—and focus my attention on the woman who is pleading for his help.
“My name is Sally. What’s yours?”
“Janet. Janet Bridgewater.”
“Well, Janet—I’d like to hear your case.”
UPON RETURNING TO my office, I notice that Sigourney is not at her desk. Assuming she’ll be back shortly, I leave the file in my hand, full of documents I need copied, on her chair. Spotting a pad of sticky notes, I simply write three copies and press it against the top before heading back to my own desk. Glancing at my cell phone as I sit, I see a notification alerting me to a missed call from my mother. I also notice that she left me a voicemail, but I don’t bother listening to it now. Instead, I set a reminder on my phone to call her later this evening.
Placing the device aside, I look out at Sigourney’s desk, surprised to find it still unoccupied. Curious as to where she might be, and impatient for those copies, I get up to go peek down the hall and see if she’s gotten herself caught up in some idle chat with one of the other secretaries or associates. I approach the door right as Meghan is strutting by, the click of her ridiculously high heels sounding more aggressive than usual.
“Meghan, have you seen Sigourney?”
She huffs and rolls her eyes before she asks, “What is it with that name? It’s so freaking pretentious—then again, if the shoe fits…”
Her voice trails off as she lifts one shoulder in a shrug, and I frown at her in confusion. I’m about to inquire what she’s talking about, but she speaks first.
“I tried to get her to go away. One look at her and I knew she couldn’t afford five minutes of your time. Then she tried to turn on the waterworks, as if I wouldn’t see right through that. Whatever—your girl, Sigourney, fell for the bait. She’s in the main conference room now, wasting her time.”
Without another word, Meghan stomps down the hall. I watch her go, wondering what in god’s name my father finds so appealing about her. I don’t think on it for long, knowing I’ll never be able to understand the way my father’s twisted mind works. More interested in what she claims Sigourney is up to, I make my way toward the conference room. When I see her through the glass wall, I halt while still out of sight, unable to keep my eyes from taking her in.
She’s sitting with her chair slightly turned in my direction, the woman she’s speaking with positioned the opposite way. The gray dress Sigourney’s wearing is modest—the neckline above her collar bone, and the hem extending until right above her knees—yet, the way the fabric shapes her body makes her sexier than I care to admit. Not to mention her yellow heels, which should be unappealing, are not. I’m afraid that nothing found at the bottom of those gorgeous legs could be considered thus. Even the way in which she sits, leaning against the table, her focus drawn to whatever that woman is pointing at, causing her hair to form a curtain obscuring her face, it’s all annoyingly attractive.
When she nods, reaching up to sweep her hair behind her ear, she must feel my eyes on her. Her gaze finds mine, and her spine straightens. I then watch as she touches the woman’s shoulder, saying something I can’t decipher. The woman looks back at me and nods, closing the folder and offering it to Sigourney. I don’t move as she stands and exits the conference room, headed straight for me.
“What are you doing?” I ask before she can speak.
“You do pro bono cases?”
The tone of her voice is laced with unmistakable surprise and a hint of what might be hope. It wasn’t a question I was expecting her to ask, but it intrigues me immediately. Certain that she wouldn’t be asking such a thing unless what she’s holding is a potential pro bono opportunity, I hold out my hand.
Rather than give me the file, she hugs it to her chest and takes another step toward me. I get a whiff of her perfume, and my dick twitches. I want to curse myself for allowing this woman to get to me the way that she does. I want to be better than my joke of a father, taking advantage of his position of authority by seducing whatever woman appeals to him at any given moment; but the way she tempts me makes it harder than it’s ever been to accomplish such a task.
“She’s got a case,” Sigourney insists, thankfully shifting the direction of my thoughts. “Glancing over the contents in this folder, I mean, only a coward would turn her away.”
I arch an eyebrow at her, my curiosity even more piqued than it was a moment ago. Crooking my fingers at her, I signal for her to hand me the file.
“Please listen to her. Ten minutes—just give her ten minutes.”
“Sigourney?” I murmur, fighting a smirk.
“Yes?”
“I’m sure this meeting will be more effective if you hand over those papers.”
She takes another step toward me, her bright green eyes growing wide in excitement as she inquires, “You’ll do it? You’ll meet with her?”
Her proximity, in conjunction with the look in her eyes, it’s too much. I don’t wait for her to hand me the file. Rather, I pluck it from her grasp, ignoring how much I like the way she smells, and walk around her. I don’t chance even a glance back at her, certain that what I need right now is to focus on whatever it is I now have in my possession.
“Mr. Croft?” asks the woman as she stands to her feet upon my entrance.
“Dane,” I reply, offering her my free hand.
Accepting my gesture and returning it with a handshake, she tells me, “I’m Janet—Janet Bridgewater. I really appreciate you taking the time to meet.”
“Please, sit,” I insist, unbuttoning my jacket as I do the same. “Tell me what I’ll find in here.”
“My husband, Royce Bridgewater, he was killed while on the job, almost a year ago now. I’ve been trying to sue the company he worked for. I know I’m onto something—I know that I could win. They’ve already tried to settle, but I refused. My previous lawyer, he came recommended by a friend of Roy’s. They worked together. Anyway, when I refused to settle, he dropped the case. I haven’t been able to find anyone to touch it since.”
Intrigued, I open the file and push it toward her. “Tell me more.”
Over the course of the next thirty minutes, I hear all I need to hear.
Royce Bridgewater, formerly an employee of Flash Packing Co., died on the side of the road while trying to fix a mechanical issue with his big rig. It was an explosion that took him out. Without looking into it, the company found him at fault—an unfortunate mistake. Janet was offered his life insurance payout, which barely covered the cost of his funeral. However, that’s not what made her decide to seek out more answers.
An experienced driver and mechanic, Royce had been delivering product for the meat packing plant more than five years—but he’d been a truck driver for three times as long. It wasn’t unusual for him to tinker underneath the hood while on the road. It didn’t make sense to Janet how her husband could be the cause of an explosion that would end his life.
During the discovery period of her case, research uncovered the truth. Royce was not the cause of the explosion. Apparently, this wasn’t the first time that Flash Packing Co. had run into dangerous mechanical issues with their rigs. When this came to light, they tried to settle. They were quick to offer her fifty grand—a little too quick. Furthermore, the loser attorney she hired didn’t want to take it to trial. He argued that Flash Packing Co. was too big of a name; that they would win; and even if they didn’t, they’d drag it out, and Janet wouldn’t see a dime after all of her court costs and attorney fees were paid. Either the guy was lazy or stupid, but Janet let him go.
That was six months ago. In that time, she’s been doing a little digging of her own. She found a dozen other incidents, over the course of the last ten years, where men have been harmed on the road, transporting product for the same company her husband worked for. There was only one that she found which resulted in death, while the eleven others were more minor incidents. However, even with this suspicious
information, no lawyer would take on her case—claiming it wasn’t worth the risk for someone who couldn’t pay.
This is the kind of shit I love more than anything else. What others see as a lost cause—one multimillion dollar company against a single mom with three kids—I see as a challenge. I see a riddle. I see a mystery that’s begging to be solved. And I see victory.
“You did the right thing, refusing to settle,” I tell her as I stand, fastening the button of my jacket. “I’ll get the paperwork drawn up, and we’ll file for an extension with the court. I can acquire access to documentation we’ll need to strengthen what you’ve found. We just need a bit more time.”
“You’re going to do it?” she breathes, the relief on her face making me smile.
“Janet—this sounds like manslaughter. Their settlement offer comes across as a bribe to keep your mouth shut. I’m not just going to do this. I’m going to get you every penny that you deserve. The money won’t replace your husband, but it’ll get you a little justice.”
She nods, her eyes flooding with tears as she rises to her feet. “Thank you. I can’t—I just—thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. Thank me when we win.” Holding up the folder, I assure her, “I’ll be in touch.”
MY STOMACH FLUTTERS when I watch Dane enter the conference room. Still not sure what to make of the man, I won’t deny that this small, new insight to who he is is more than fascinating. I know I should probably get back to my desk and see to my work, but my mind is too busy to think about any of the tasks that await me. I need a little gossip, and I need it pronto. Knowing exactly where I can go for such a thing, I walk in the opposite direction of my desk—taking myself straight to Ava’s office.
I’m practically giddy when I find that she’s inside. I knock on her closed door, offering her a smile and a wave when she looks over at me. She grins before beckoning me to enter.
“Hey, Sally. What’s up?”
“Are you busy? Do you have a second?” I ask, anxiously wrapping my fingers around the back of one of her guest chairs.
“Busy? Yes—but I can spare a moment. Sit. Speak,” she insists, leaning against her elbows on her desk.
“All right, well, I’m here for a little insider information,” I confess as I sit.
Her eyebrows shoot up, the grin on her face returning before she practically purrs, “Go on.”
“This woman just came in claiming that Dane has a bit of a reputation for doing pro bono cases. She wanted to hire him. I listened to her story, which was quite compelling, and before I could tell Dane a single detail about it, he was sitting down with her.”
“Oh, yeah,” she hums, reclining slightly in her chair. She sweeps her curls over one shoulder and down her chest as she informs me, “Pro bono cases are like his hobby.”
My jaw falls open as a surprised laugh bubbles out of me. “That’s a strange hobby.”
“That’s Dane for you. He does about five or six a year. He’s infamous for them around the firm.”
“Infamous?”
“Okay—what I’m about to tell you is strictly hearsay—but rumor has it that he does it to piss off his dad.”
Shrugging, I wonder aloud, “Why would that piss off his dad?”
“The first time Dane took on a pro bono case, Allen was livid. He didn’t clear it with any of the partners. I remember. I had just started working for Rebecca. Anyway, Dane argued that he could pull enough cases and make enough money that one pro bono case wouldn’t matter. Well, he did. I think after that it became sort of like a game for him.”
I sit back in my chair, yet again at a complete and total loss. While I think it’s very generous of him to take on so many pro bono cases, his reasoning behind it isn’t exactly noble. However, I’ve met Allen. Besides, even if his motivation is a bit vindictive, the result of Dane’s efforts is noteworthy.
Deciding I need a bit of time to process this information, I thank Ava for the chat and leave her to her work. Passing by the conference room, I can’t ignore the thrill that rushes through me when I Dane is still sitting with Janet. There was something about her that spoke to me. Hearing her talk about her husband, seeing the determination that shined in her eyes, it made me wish I could take on her case. She’s got three small boys at home, and she’s spent the last nine months fighting so hard to honor the memory of their father by proving—without a shadow of a doubt—that he was wronged. I admire her for her struggle. It can’t be easy, raising those boys alone at a time like this.
Upon returning to my desk, I find a file Dane wishes for me to copy, and I see to it straightaway. I have to walk into Meghan’s line of sight to get to the supply room with the copy machine, and I’m grateful she’s not at her desk during my short visit. If yesterday’s introduction didn’t solidify the fact that we won’t be the best of friends, what happened with Janet did.
After delivering the copies to Dane’s office, I return to my seat. I don’t even bother pretending I’m not looking over the top of my desk every two seconds to see if he’s finished with Janet yet. It’s another ten minutes before I spot him headed my way, and I’m quick to jump up to speak with him. Before I can say a word, he thrusts the folder in my hands, a smirk causing the corner of his mouth to curl.
“Find Chandler. Have him draw up the necessary paperwork to file for an extension on the Bridgewater case. I want it delivered to the courthouse as soon as possible.”
Smiling widely, I accept the folder, trying not to squeal in excitement as I ask, “Really? You’re taking on the case?”
“You were right. Only a coward would turn this down.”
My smile stretches into a grin, and this time I can’t contain my squeal. I don’t even care. Stepping around him, I call out, “I’m going to find Chandler now. Oh, and the copies you asked for are on your desk.”
MY EYES FOLLOW her as she hurries toward the elevators, on a hunt to find Chandler. The smile she just gave me is now burned into the forefront of my mind. Her excitement over this whole thing is unexpected. Unexpected and welcome. Furthermore, to learn that she was indeed right—that Janet Bridgewater has a case that is worth my time—it makes me want to know more about her. I never did bother to look at her résumé, so I’m unsure about the extent of her law background. Apparently, it’s something I might want to research.
I don’t notice Lydia walking toward me until she calls my name. As soon as she informs me that she’s completed the task I gave her first thing this morning, I bring her into my office, all thoughts of Sigourney temporarily cast aside.
THURSDAY MORNING, I show up with Dane’s coffee just in time to hand it off to him before he hops on the elevator, headed for the parking garage. I’m so busy admiring the way he looks with his briefcase—which is more like an expensive-looking, worn, brown leather messenger bag he strapped over his shoulder—I almost miss his thank you as the doors shut him inside of the lift car. Then, for an entire minute and against my better judgment, I try to imagine him in court. I get a little jealous that I can’t go with him, then I snap out of it and make my way to my desk.
I’m not surprised to find a short to-do list from Dane waiting for me. With my latte in hand, I work diligently for the next couple of hours. After checking messages and emails, leaving Dane notes for when he returns, I go down my checklist of tasks until they are complete. According to my calendar, I shouldn’t expect him back to the office until around eleven, so I decide to go looking for Chandler again. I’ve been thinking about Janet’s case since I woke up this morning, and I’m anxious for any sort of update he might have.
As soon as the elevator doors open with a chime on the forty-eighth floor, I find just who I’m searching for. Chandler offers me a chin lift and a nonchalant, “Hey, Sally,” as I step out of the car. Except, before I have a chance to respond, he’s boarding it.
“Hey, Chandler, I was looking for you.”
“Headed to the courthouse. Can it wait?” he asks, holding up a manila envelop.
/> The doors to the elevator start to close, so I extend my arm, keeping them open as I inquire, “Is that the extension request for the Bridgewater case?”
He tugs his eyebrows together, as if he doesn’t know what I’m talking about. “No. Documents for the Cypress Syntech case.”
“Oh, well, have you started the Bridgewater paperwork? Couldn’t you just drop them both off at the same time?”
“My plate’s a little full, sweetheart. That extension isn’t exactly on the top of my priority list.”
I jerk my head back, unappreciative of his use of the term sweetheart—like I’m nothing more than some simpleton secretary. Remembering my conversation with Dane yesterday morning, I prop my free hand on my hip and state, “The Bridgewater case is a priority. Dane wanted the extension filed as soon as possible.”
“It’s pro bono, Sally. This takes precedence. Money always takes precedence. I doubt Dane would see things differently. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” His sentence drops off as he moves my arm, causing the elevator doors to separate us.
For the second time this morning, I’m left standing in front of a set of closed silver doors. Although, instead of feeling jealous about Chandler’s trip to the courthouse, I’m a bit peeved. I feel trapped—confined in my current role. Not only that, but it’s the way people view me because of my role. While I’m well above a lowly file clerk, like I was at my last job, the perks of this job—the alleged power I’m supposed to have to be able to say because Dane said so—it’s not enough. Also, it apparently doesn’t even work. I am capable of so much more. Of course, nobody other than Rebecca knows it; but that doesn’t make it any less true.
I stand in the small lobby long enough to make up my mind. Without second guessing myself, I don’t press the call button to beckon an elevator. Instead, I make my way to Chandler’s desk. While I’ve never actually drawn up a legitimate document, such as the one needed for the Bridgewater request, I’m sure I can figure it out. After all, I am a law school graduate. Besides, seeing as this is so low on Chandler’s priority list, he won’t even notice that I’ve plucked the file from his desk.
