Practice Makes Perfect by Julie James
Payton grinned. “You must be Chase.” As she extended her hand in introduction, she took the opportunity to give him a more thorough once-over.
He had dark wavy hair and warm brown eyes. Very Pat-rick Dempsey/McDreamy-esque. Good build, not terribly tall, maybe only five-ten-ish, but since Payton measured in at exactly five-three and one-third inch, she could work with this.
Chase took her hand. His grip was firm. “It’s a pleasure, Payton,” he said, still with an utterly genuine, easy smile.
Uh-oh. Payton’s bullshit radar went on high alert. He was too nice. She eyed him cautiously as he took a seat next to her at the bar.
But as they talked and ordered drinks, Payton began to have a sneaking suspicion that Chase’s nice-guy routine wasn’t a routine at all. He seemed genuinely friendly and—even more shocking for a blind date—completely normal.
“So, Laney tells me you’re a lawyer as well,” Chase said as the bartender set their drinks down in front of them, a French martini for her, a Tom Collins for him. Payton made a mental note to ask what was in his drink they next time they ordered. (Oh, yes—she had already decided there would be a second round.)
Payton nodded. “I do labor and employment litigation.” She told him a little about her practice, then asked about his.
“I just moved here to be the new general counsel for the Chicago Legal Clinic,” Chase said. “Perhaps you’ve heard of us? We’re a private not-for-profit firm that provides legal services to individuals who meet the federal poverty guidelines.”
Payton was impressed. How altruistic of him. Her mother would love this guy. “General counsel? Laney hadn’t mentioned that.”
Chase grinned. “It sounds like a much more important position than it really is.”
In her profession, it was rare for Payton to meet someone actually disinclined to brag. And as their conversation continued, she was pleasantly surprised to discover that Chase seemed just as modest about his other accomplishments. When they got around to the subject of law school (a subject two lawyers will always get around to), she liked that he referred to his education as “going to school in Boston” rather than identifying Harvard by name. And when she asked what he had done prior to coming to Chicago to work for the Legal Clinic, she’d nearly had to pry it out of him that he had been the assistant chief of staff for a certain senator who had run for president in the last election. He didn’t like to name-drop, he told her, mildly embarrassed.
After a while, they moved to a private table in the back of the bar for their second round of drinks. (A Tom Collins, Payton had since learned, consisted of gin, lemon juice, soda, sugar, and—hmm—a maraschino cherry.)
As Chase finished telling a story about the coed softball league he and Laney’s husband played in, Payton cocked her head curiously. “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but you really don’t seem like the typical Harvard Law type.”
Chase laughed good-naturedly. “That’s what I said myself, every day, right up until I mailed in my acceptance.” He leaned in toward her, his brown eyes dancing with amusement. “Laney warned me about this, Payton, and I just have to say for the record that we’re not all total assholes, us Ivy Leaguers. Some of us actually go there for the education—not just to be able to brag that we went to Harvard.”
Payton couldn’t help but smile. Point taken. “Now what am I supposed to say to that? I hate it when you Harvard boys are right.”
“Then I promise to screw up plenty on our second date—if there is a second date,” Chase added with a wink.
It was the wink that made Payton think of J.D.
More specifically, of her and J.D. in the library. The haughty way he’d told her not to count on making partner. How angry he’d been when they’d argued. The way he’d furiously backed her against the bookshelves. And the way he’d looked at her right before she’d—ahem—been stricken with the high-altitude sickness.
Payton pushed the memory from her mind. She was on a date. It was bad enough she had to deal with J.D. at work—there was no way she was going to let him intrude on her personal time, too.
So Payton rested her chin in her hand and looked at the handsome man sitting across the table from her with a blatant come-hither smile.
“If there is a second date?” she asked coyly.
Over the light of the candle that flickered in the center of their table, Chase returned the smile.
“When there is a second date.”
“SO BASICALLY, YOU acted like a total trollop.”
“Laney!”
“A man isn’t going to buy the cow, Payton, if he can get the milk for free.”
“We didn’t even kiss!” Payton protested, not bothering to hide her laugh. The things that came out of her friend’s mouth sometimes.
They were talking at work, in Payton’s office. She had gotten home too late to call Laney the night before, having done three rounds of drinks with the Perfect Chase. The two of them had talked so much they hadn’t noticed when the restaurant’s kitchen closed. Hence, Payton hadn’t had anything to eat with her three rounds. Hence, the slight headache and nauseous feeling she’d been battling since waking up. She was quickly remembering why she didn’t like going out on weeknights, especially when she had to be in the office by 7:30 a.m.
“Wait, you didn’t kiss him?” Laney’s tone suddenly changed and she eyed Payton suspiciously. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like him?”
Payton dug through the stack of jury instructions on her desk. “Oh—look who wants to gossip now.”
“Tell me, Payton,” Laney demanded. “Nate tells me Chase is a really great guy. I’ve already had visions of the seven of us barbecuing on Sundays.”
“The seven of us?”
“There are the children, of course.”
Payton nodded. “I see. And . . . seven?”
“Nate and I have twins—a boy and a girl.”
“Of course you do.”
Laney fidgeted in her chair impatiently. “So, come on then—did you like him?”
“Of course I liked him,” Payton said. “I mean, what’s not to like? He’s good-looking and nice and successful . . .”
“But?”
“Well, he ordered a drink with a cherry.”
Laney sighed. “I see. Okay, whatever. I tried.”
“What does that mean?” Payton asked, going on the defensive.
“Clearly, you’re trying to find something wrong with him,” Laney said. “His beverage selection? Come on, that’s ridiculous.”
Payton took issue with this. “Wait a second—why would I try to find something wrong with Chase?”
“Good question. You tell me.”
“There’s nothing to tell. As we already established from the ‘trollop’ comment, he and I are going on a second date.”
“I’m just putting it out there that you really might want to give this guy a chance,” Laney lectured.
“I told you, I like him!”
“Good.”
“We have a lot in common—we talked for hours.”
“Glad to hear it.” Laney said nothing further; she just stared at Payton with the faint trace of a smile.
“You are just all over me with this,” Payton said, semi-annoyed.
“I know. I’m really bored with work these days.”
“I’d be happy to assign you a few of my cases, if you need things to keep you busy,” Payton grumbled.
“As if any lawyer could ever handle your cases as skillfully as you,” Laney declined smoothly.
Payton sniffed at this, partially mollified. How true.
“Let’s hope the Partnership Committee agrees with you on that,” she said.
“Any further word on that front?” Laney asked.
Payton shook her head. “No. Just that Ben said that J.D. and I should give it all we’ve got these next few weeks.” She gestured to the stack of files on her desk. “For starters, I better win this trial.” She sighed, resting her chin in her hand
“You won’t,” Laney told her matter-of-factly. “You’ve never lost anything.”
Payton glanced through her window to J.D.’s office across the hall. She could see him working diligently, as always.
“I know. But neither has he.”
FOR THE NEXT two days, Payton had little time to worry about J.D., so engrossed was she in the final preparations for her trial. She and Brandon, the junior associate working with her on the case, bunkered down in her office from dawn till dusk, running through the trial from jury selection to closing arguments. The trial was scheduled to last just under two weeks, which meant it would be essentially the last assignment upon which she could be judged by the Partnership Committee before they made their decision. A victory would be a tremendous feather in her cap; a loss would be disastrous.
Payton knew that J.D., too, had a lot on his plate. At their monthly litigation group luncheon, she overheard him mention to Max, a senior partner who “just happened” to be on the Partnership Committee, that he was juggling two class certification oppositions, both of which he was confident he would successfully wrap up by the end of the month.
Standing nearby, Payton was certain J.D.’s comment was primarily for her benefit. So she turned to Helen, another senior partner who also “just happened” to be on the Partnership Committee, and said she had heard that Helen’s daughter was applying for law school at the University of Illinois, Payton’s alma mater.
“It’s a wonderful school, and such a good bargain with in-state tuition,” Payton said.
Helen nodded, agreeing with this. “I’m just keeping my fingers crossed that she gets in. She didn’t do quite as well on the LSAT as she had hoped.”
“I’d be happy to write your daughter a recommendation,” Payton offered.
Out of nowhere, Laney was suddenly at Payton’s side.
“You definitely should take her up on that, Helen—they love Payton at that school. She’s too modest to tell you this, but did you know that Payton graduated first in her class and set a new record for the most perfect scores earned on final exams by any one student?”
Payton could’ve kissed Laney right there.
“Wow,” said Helen. She turned to Payton. “I am impressed. Maybe we could have lunch sometime this week, Payton? We could talk about that recommendation for my daughter. And who knows? Perhaps someday soon I’ll be able to return the favor . . .” She winked.
A few moments later, after Helen walked away, J.D. sauntered over to Payton and Laney. He clapped sarcastically.
“Well played, ladies.” J.D. looked Payton over. “But I wouldn’t book that flight to Bora-Bora yet, Kendall. It’s going to take a lot more than the vote of the one female on the Partnership Committee to win this.” He smiled. “I had already conceded that one to you, anyway.”
With that, he turned and confidently strolled out of the conference room. Payton and Laney watched him go.
Laney shook her head. “Unbelievable.”
Payton gestured. “See—I told you.”
“That man has such a great butt.”
“Laney!”
“What? I’m conservative, Payton, not blind.”
SOMEWHERE AROUND FIVE, the evening before her trial began, Payton reached her saturation point. She had prepared all her direct and cross-examinations, had practiced her opening statement, reviewed and taken notes on every witness’s deposition transcript, and had thoroughly prepared her client’s own witnesses for their testimonies. Now there was nothing left for her to do except to accept the fact that there was nothing left for her to do. Not an easy task, considering what she felt was riding on the outcome of this trial.
She needed a distraction. Left to her own devices, she would either drive herself crazy, worrying over insignificant minutiae, or she would start calling Brandon with questions, thus driving him crazy.
Laney was busy, Payton knew. Tonight, unbeknownst to Nate, her friend had prepared a PowerPoint presentation for her husband—complete with estimated income graphs, cost of living analyses, and a fertility projection—logically detailing all the reasons why they needed to start trying to have a baby now. And as for her other friends, Payton knew better than to call them—nothing was more annoying to a nonlawyer than to be stuck with one the night before a trial. Every sentence tended to start with, “So, if you were a juror on this case, what would you think if . . . ?”
There was, however, somebody who would be perfect company for the evening. She picked up the phone on her desk.
“Hi,” she said when he answered. “I know it’s short notice, but I thought I’d see if you happened to be free for dinner tonight.”
AN HOUR LATER, Payton waited in the lounge at DeLaCosta restaurant. She’d managed to score a bar table along the window with a view overlooking the canal.
She smiled as the Perfect Chase walked in, looking very dashing in his light summer sweater and dark brown pants.
He returned the smile as he took the seat across from her. “Sorry—my cab got stuck in traffic.”
The waitress approached to take his drink order.
“A Tom Collins,” Chase told her. “But, please—make sure there is absolutely no cherry in it.”
Payton nearly died of embarrassment right there. Oh, my god, she was going to kill Laney.
Chase laughed at the sheepish look on Payton’s face. “It’s okay, Payton. I don’t get offended easily.” He reached across the table and took her hand in his, lightly stroking his thumb across her fingers. “I’m just glad you called.”
Payton relaxed. It was pretty much impossible not to like Chase. He was so low maintenance, being with him felt . . . comfortable.
“I’m glad you could make it,” she told him. After all, comfortable was good.
Wasn’t it?
The waitress brought Chase his cherry-less drink and asked the two of them if they’d like to order appetizers.
Payton asked for a moment. She skimmed the menu, quickly searching for things without meat. She never looked forward to this part of her first dinner date with a guy; she hated coming off as fussy.
She saw Chase peeking over at her, seemingly a bit self-conscious himself. “In light of the whole cherry debacle, I almost hate to say this, but I should let you know that I’m a vegetarian.”
Payton set her menu down on the table in disbelief. “So am I!” She laughed. Funny coincidence.
“How long for you?” Chase asked.
“Since birth. My mother’s doing.”
“Fish?”
“Nope. ‘Nothing with a face,’ as my mom used to say.”
“Nothing with a face,” Chase repeated. “I like that.”
After they decided what meatless appetizers to try, Chase signaled the waitress and placed their order. As Payton watched him, she couldn’t help but think: if she had created him à la Weird Science at build-a-date.com, had him packaged, wrapped up in a red bow, and shipped right to her front door, she couldn’t have found a guy seemingly more perfect for her than Chase Bellamy.
So why was there something nagging at her?
She was just out of sorts, she assured herself. She was feeling anxious and under pressure with the looming partnership decision. Nothing else.
She heard Chase ask her a question; he wanted to know about her trial. He said he’d love to drop by the courthouse one day to watch her.
Payton brushed aside her misgivings.
After all, it would be a silly woman indeed who disliked a man simply because he liked her.
Ten
IT ALL STARTED innocently enough.
Payton was in the second day of her trial, and things were progressing well. Her client, a Fortune 500 wireless carrier, had been sued for sexual harassment stemming from an incident that occurred at one of its sales offices. According to the plaintiff, a female sales representative, she had accepted a ride home from her male manager after the company’s annual boat cruise and after pulling int
Or—one might perhaps also say—he unzipped his fly and asked whether she wanted to “test-drive his love stick.”
Whether or not the incident had occurred was not in dispute, as the plaintiff had been thoughtful enough to snap a photo of said love stick with her cell phone, which had now come to be known as “Exhibit A” of the trial.
“Fire the guy,” Payton had advised her client in no uncertain terms when the incident had first come to light a little over a year ago. “And tell him to get a better line. That’s just embarrassing.”
Firing the manager, however, had not been enough to satisfy the plaintiff, who had slapped the company with a two-million-dollar lawsuit. Because no one disputed the incident had occurred, Payton’s job at trial was to establish that the company had efficiently and appropriately responded to the incident, thus absolving it of any liability under the law.
Step one of her defense strategy started on the first day of trial, with jury selection. In light of the infamous Exhibit A (which the plaintiff’s attorneys had blown up to ridiculously gargantuan proportions and undoubtedly planned to display throughout the entire course of the trial), Payton had avoided selecting any juror she felt had what one might call “delicate sensibilities.” Someone who perhaps tended toward what one might describe as a “conservatively moralistic” viewpoint; one who could possibly be outraged by the conduct of the defendant’s ex-employee and want to ease that outrage in the form of dollars thrown in the direction of the plaintiff.
In other words, no Laneys.
Nobody who would take one look at a six-foot color photo of a half-mast penis popping out of a Dockers button-fly (hello!) and promptly ask how many zeros are in a gazillion.
From there, step two of Payton’s defense strategy was to set the right tone for the trial in her opening statement: sympathetic, but firm. Understanding and in complete agreement that managerial love sticks should be kept firmly tucked behind closed zippers, but rational and logical in guiding the jury to understand that her client, the employer, was not financially liable to the tune of two million dollars for the actions of one rogue ex-employee.