Confessions of a Litigation God by Sawyer Bennett
Page 16
I cringe and pull my arm away so I can signal for the waiter, who starts over toward us. I’m going to guzzle the champagne because the sooner its drunk, the sooner I can leave and be done with Lorraine Cummings. Granted, she’ll be around for another thirty days, but we can suffer with it since it’s a permanent fix.
Pulling out my phone, I check the time. 8:30 PM.
I wonder what Mac is doing right now. Is she thinking about me? Cursing me? Masturbating thinking about me?
One can only hope.
None of that matters though. We are done, and it’s back to business as usual starting tomorrow.
For the first time, in a long time, I actually feel sad.
Chapter 12
I hang up my phone and mentally check off my list to find a date for the Patron’s Gala for the New York State Bar Association next week. I hate these functions, but they are a necessity. Much of my business comes from personal referrals from other attorneys, so it’s necessary for me to rub elbows with them.
I’m taking my friend, Melody Chambers. She’s a partner over at Weinsten Fannerty, a very successful criminal defense firm. She and I worked together at a little boutique civil rights firm right after we graduated law school. It was only for a few months before she moved on, but we stayed in contact and became friends. We became better friends after my divorce.
Not in a sexual way. Rather, Melody’s husband, Richard, is an advertising executive and he travels a lot internationally. I’ve filled in as escort for her on occasion, and she’s done the same for me so I don’t have to go stag to these functions. It works out nicely, and we get along well. She planned to go to this party anyway, so we’ll basically share a limo and I’ll have someone who I can actually stand to talk to all evening.
Glancing at my watch, I see it’s almost six PM. Mac sent me an email this morning asking for help on the Jackson case. I’m not sure what it says about me that I felt like a schoolboy that just got handed a note from the girl he likes when I first saw that email. A zing of adrenaline went through me and maybe I secretly hoped when I opened it that she would be asking to see me tonight.
Alas, it was short and to the point, asking for help on that case.
Still rocking the schoolboy complex, I immediately responded back to her that she could come discuss it with me any time. I sort of expected her to come immediately to my office, but I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
I didn’t go out to lunch, in case she decided to come see me on her lunch hour.
But still I waited.
Finally, I gave up and spent the remainder of my Friday afternoon lost in some legal research on an admissibility issue, and I forgot… for a while… about Mac.
Which was good, because the email is not the first thing I’ve obsessed about this week. Since she broke things off Monday night, I’ve gone over in my head a million times how f**ked up that entire situation was. I let my anger over seeing her with Cal get the better of me, and I made her suffer for it.
I know it was wrong not to tell her about Lorraine, but the way she demanded it of me took this thing we have going in a different direction. It smacked too much of a relationship, and I don’t like having to answer to anyone. I do know, however, that’s an issue I have to work on… someday.
I know it was wrong to demand she stay away from Cal. But f**k… the thought of her with him is driving me bat-shit crazy. The fact that she has something going on with him causes my veins to feel like they have acid swimming in them.
Everything just f**king burns.
If it would be any other man in the entire world, it would not have been a problem. Okay, well… that’s not exactly true. I don’t want her with any other man.
But for f**k’s sake. Cal Carson?
In the hierarchy of people that I despise, Marissa is numero uno. But taking the second slot position, just a millimeter under her is Cal Carson. Truly, the only thing I hate about my career is that I actually have to deal with Cal on cases we have. Thank God, we are on opposite sides of the cases we have, and so all of our dealings together are dirty fights. Over the last few years, we’ve managed to act civilly toward each other when we are around other people, but if we were ever to get alone… I guarantee there would be bloody knuckles involved.
I think about how I found out about Cal and Marissa. I would have never known had Cal’s conscience not gotten the better of him.
He actually confessed… waiting outside my apartment. Marissa and Gabe were out and about, so I invited him up. He declined a beer I offered him, and then proceeded to destroy me.
I already knew that Marissa was cheating on me. After I started noticing suspicious behavior—taking phone calls and walking out of the room so I couldn’t hear, running errands at odd times of the day or night, going out with “the girls” four to five nights a week—yeah, it all tipped me off something was wrong, so I hired a private investigator. Within one week, he had a thick report with photographs of my wife banging two different guys.
The marriage was over. She didn’t know it yet, but I was carefully plotting the way it was going to occur. She didn’t think it was odd that I was sleeping on the couch, or had basically stopped talking to her all together. In her shortsighted mind, that was just better opportunity for her to sneak around.
So, was I surprised that Marissa f**ked another guy? No.
Was I surprised it was my best friend? Abso-fucking-lutely.
I didn’t even get the story from him. Cal made the mistake of starting his confession off by hitting me with the bad news.
He’d said—with tears in his eyes, “Matt… I am so sorry. But last night, I got really, really drunk and I was with Marissa. ”
That’s as far as he got before my fist planted in his face. It knocked him backward into one of the kitchen island stools, and he flipped over it, crashing to the floor. I was on him like stink on shit, pummeling his face with my bare knuckles.
It was only when I drew back from a direct hit to his eye, and saw I had burst a blood vessel in it, that I stopped the attack. While fury was driving me, common sense was stepping in and telling me not to do anything that would get me in criminal trouble. Without that good, old common sense driving me, I probably would have killed him and to make matters worse, Cal wasn’t defending himself.
I pushed off him and stood up, my legs shaky, my chest heaving, and blood dripping from my hands.
“Get out,” I said quietly.
I watched him roll over and push himself up, blood pouring from a cut to his temple and out of his nose. One eye was already swollen shut. He staggered to the door and just like that, the two closest people to me had shredded my heart.
I’m broken out of my tragic memories by a shrieking noise coming from somewhere close by. My head snaps toward my door because it was a woman yelling, and I listen again. I don’t hear anything but I get up to investigate, walking down the hall from where I think the noise was coming from.
Turning the corner and heading down a hallway that houses a long row of attorney offices, I hear, “Don’t you have anything to f**king say for yourself?”
Okay, that’s Lorraine’s voice and I start to walk a little faster. It’s coming from the door I have my eyes pinned on just thirty feet away.
Mac’s office.
I’m starting to reach my hand for the door when I hear Lorraine say, “You’re such a f**king screw up, McKayla!”
Rage suffuses me, not only that Lorraine would be screaming at someone, an offense I just basically told her was getting her shit-canned from my firm, but because she’s yelling at Mac. A protectiveness rises up and I throw the door open to Mac’s office so hard that it crashes into the wall and one of her degrees falls to the ground, causing the glass to break. I take in the scene in a quick glance. Mac sitting at her desk with papers scattered all around, an empty file on the floor, broken degrees looking pathetic, and Lorraine standing over Mac with fury in her eyes.
Yes, broken degrees… as in plural. Apparently, her other degree had been already knocked to the floor and lay amid a pile of crushed glass.
“That’s just great,” Mac says forlornly, looking down at the damaged proof of her graduations.
Even though I want to grab Lorraine by the neck and wring the meanness out of her, I look to Mac and say calmly, “What the hell is going on here?”
Her eyes rise to mine and she says quietly, “You broke my frame. ”
Maybe once I wring Lorraine’s neck, I’ll wring Mac’s too. She’s purposely being evasive.
Turning from Mac, I look to Lorraine. My tone is still calm, but there is a bit more anger laced in my words. “I repeat… what is going on here? I heard yelling clear down in my office. ”
Lorraine looks like she’s about ready to puke. Her face is green, and she stands there twisting her hands around one another in a sign of nervous guilt. Mac quietly starts gathering all the scattered papers on her desk, straightening them into a single pile. When she grabs one document off the floor, she looks at it and the corners of her mouth tilt upward slightly.
She hands the paper to Lorraine and says quietly, “Here’s your Order. ”
Lorraine doesn’t take the paper from Mac but rather stares at it in horror with her face blanched pale. Then I watch an interesting byplay between Mac and Lorraine.
Mac keeps her eyes steady on Lorraine, holding the Order out to her. Lorraine slowly drags her gaze from the offensive document and looks at Mac beseechingly. Mac looks at Lorraine with a hard glint for just a moment, and then she opens her mouth like she’s going to say something. Lorraine’s face goes green again.
Then Mac turns to me with a sparkling smile and a sweet voice. “Nothing’s wrong. Just a little disagreement, but we cleared it up. Right, Lorraine?”
Lorraine’s breath comes out in a massive, relieved rush, and she regains some of her color. Giving Mac a grateful look, she turns to me and says, “Right. No problems here. ”
Nice try, Mac. You little liar.
I look back and forth between the two of them, trying to figure out if it’s worth my while to figure out what’s really going on here. But then I decide against it. Mac told me before she doesn’t want my help with any beefs she may have with Lorraine and, in just a few weeks, Lorraine will be gone.
I decide to let it go. “McKayla… let’s meet on the Jackson case so I can get out of here. I’ve got plans tonight. ”
Mac follows docilely behind me to my office, although she doesn’t have a docile bone in her body. I wait for her to choose which chair she wants to sit in, and then I choose to sit in the chair next to her rather than behind my desk, causing her eyebrows to raise.
It’s the closest we’ve been to each other since Monday, and it’s disconcerting. Although I’ve been coming to a slow acceptance that our time together is done, I still have an aching urge to grab her and kiss her.
Looking down at my watch, I say, “I’ve got twenty minutes before I have to leave for dinner. Bill and I are meeting our accountant tonight. ”
I told her that part about Bill and me going out to dinner tonight in an effort to give her full disclosure, since I know I f**ked up earlier in the week by refusing to tell her where I was going. Why I conceded to do that is beyond me. I don’t owe her that courtesy, yet I just gave it to her.
She responds by shrugging her shoulders, as if she could give a damn. “Not any of my business. ”
I just stare at her, pissed she doesn’t appreciate my effort.
Then she really sticks the knife in by adding on, “Sir. ”
My blood boils with anger over the fact she’s deliberately trying to get under my skin with the “sir” routine. She’s been doing it all week in the few interactions we’ve had, even once calling me “Mr. Connover”. None of the attorneys here call me Mr. Connover.
I grit my teeth and narrow my eyes at her, rising to the challenge. To hell with saying I was going to stay out of it. “I want to know what was going on between you and Lorraine. ”
I cringe and pull my arm away so I can signal for the waiter, who starts over toward us. I’m going to guzzle the champagne because the sooner its drunk, the sooner I can leave and be done with Lorraine Cummings. Granted, she’ll be around for another thirty days, but we can suffer with it since it’s a permanent fix.
Pulling out my phone, I check the time. 8:30 PM.
I wonder what Mac is doing right now. Is she thinking about me? Cursing me? Masturbating thinking about me?
One can only hope.
None of that matters though. We are done, and it’s back to business as usual starting tomorrow.
For the first time, in a long time, I actually feel sad.
Chapter 12
I hang up my phone and mentally check off my list to find a date for the Patron’s Gala for the New York State Bar Association next week. I hate these functions, but they are a necessity. Much of my business comes from personal referrals from other attorneys, so it’s necessary for me to rub elbows with them.
I’m taking my friend, Melody Chambers. She’s a partner over at Weinsten Fannerty, a very successful criminal defense firm. She and I worked together at a little boutique civil rights firm right after we graduated law school. It was only for a few months before she moved on, but we stayed in contact and became friends. We became better friends after my divorce.
Not in a sexual way. Rather, Melody’s husband, Richard, is an advertising executive and he travels a lot internationally. I’ve filled in as escort for her on occasion, and she’s done the same for me so I don’t have to go stag to these functions. It works out nicely, and we get along well. She planned to go to this party anyway, so we’ll basically share a limo and I’ll have someone who I can actually stand to talk to all evening.
Glancing at my watch, I see it’s almost six PM. Mac sent me an email this morning asking for help on the Jackson case. I’m not sure what it says about me that I felt like a schoolboy that just got handed a note from the girl he likes when I first saw that email. A zing of adrenaline went through me and maybe I secretly hoped when I opened it that she would be asking to see me tonight.
Alas, it was short and to the point, asking for help on that case.
Still rocking the schoolboy complex, I immediately responded back to her that she could come discuss it with me any time. I sort of expected her to come immediately to my office, but I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
I didn’t go out to lunch, in case she decided to come see me on her lunch hour.
But still I waited.
Finally, I gave up and spent the remainder of my Friday afternoon lost in some legal research on an admissibility issue, and I forgot… for a while… about Mac.
Which was good, because the email is not the first thing I’ve obsessed about this week. Since she broke things off Monday night, I’ve gone over in my head a million times how f**ked up that entire situation was. I let my anger over seeing her with Cal get the better of me, and I made her suffer for it.
I know it was wrong not to tell her about Lorraine, but the way she demanded it of me took this thing we have going in a different direction. It smacked too much of a relationship, and I don’t like having to answer to anyone. I do know, however, that’s an issue I have to work on… someday.
I know it was wrong to demand she stay away from Cal. But f**k… the thought of her with him is driving me bat-shit crazy. The fact that she has something going on with him causes my veins to feel like they have acid swimming in them.
Everything just f**king burns.
If it would be any other man in the entire world, it would not have been a problem. Okay, well… that’s not exactly true. I don’t want her with any other man.
But for f**k’s sake. Cal Carson?
In the hierarchy of people that I despise, Marissa is numero uno. But taking the second slot position, just a millimeter under her is Cal Carson. Truly, the only thing I hate about my career is that I actually have to deal with Cal on cases we have. Thank God, we are on opposite sides of the cases we have, and so all of our dealings together are dirty fights. Over the last few years, we’ve managed to act civilly toward each other when we are around other people, but if we were ever to get alone… I guarantee there would be bloody knuckles involved.
I think about how I found out about Cal and Marissa. I would have never known had Cal’s conscience not gotten the better of him.
He actually confessed… waiting outside my apartment. Marissa and Gabe were out and about, so I invited him up. He declined a beer I offered him, and then proceeded to destroy me.
I already knew that Marissa was cheating on me. After I started noticing suspicious behavior—taking phone calls and walking out of the room so I couldn’t hear, running errands at odd times of the day or night, going out with “the girls” four to five nights a week—yeah, it all tipped me off something was wrong, so I hired a private investigator. Within one week, he had a thick report with photographs of my wife banging two different guys.
The marriage was over. She didn’t know it yet, but I was carefully plotting the way it was going to occur. She didn’t think it was odd that I was sleeping on the couch, or had basically stopped talking to her all together. In her shortsighted mind, that was just better opportunity for her to sneak around.
So, was I surprised that Marissa f**ked another guy? No.
Was I surprised it was my best friend? Abso-fucking-lutely.
I didn’t even get the story from him. Cal made the mistake of starting his confession off by hitting me with the bad news.
He’d said—with tears in his eyes, “Matt… I am so sorry. But last night, I got really, really drunk and I was with Marissa. ”
That’s as far as he got before my fist planted in his face. It knocked him backward into one of the kitchen island stools, and he flipped over it, crashing to the floor. I was on him like stink on shit, pummeling his face with my bare knuckles.
It was only when I drew back from a direct hit to his eye, and saw I had burst a blood vessel in it, that I stopped the attack. While fury was driving me, common sense was stepping in and telling me not to do anything that would get me in criminal trouble. Without that good, old common sense driving me, I probably would have killed him and to make matters worse, Cal wasn’t defending himself.
I pushed off him and stood up, my legs shaky, my chest heaving, and blood dripping from my hands.
“Get out,” I said quietly.
I watched him roll over and push himself up, blood pouring from a cut to his temple and out of his nose. One eye was already swollen shut. He staggered to the door and just like that, the two closest people to me had shredded my heart.
I’m broken out of my tragic memories by a shrieking noise coming from somewhere close by. My head snaps toward my door because it was a woman yelling, and I listen again. I don’t hear anything but I get up to investigate, walking down the hall from where I think the noise was coming from.
Turning the corner and heading down a hallway that houses a long row of attorney offices, I hear, “Don’t you have anything to f**king say for yourself?”
Okay, that’s Lorraine’s voice and I start to walk a little faster. It’s coming from the door I have my eyes pinned on just thirty feet away.
Mac’s office.
I’m starting to reach my hand for the door when I hear Lorraine say, “You’re such a f**king screw up, McKayla!”
Rage suffuses me, not only that Lorraine would be screaming at someone, an offense I just basically told her was getting her shit-canned from my firm, but because she’s yelling at Mac. A protectiveness rises up and I throw the door open to Mac’s office so hard that it crashes into the wall and one of her degrees falls to the ground, causing the glass to break. I take in the scene in a quick glance. Mac sitting at her desk with papers scattered all around, an empty file on the floor, broken degrees looking pathetic, and Lorraine standing over Mac with fury in her eyes.
Yes, broken degrees… as in plural. Apparently, her other degree had been already knocked to the floor and lay amid a pile of crushed glass.
“That’s just great,” Mac says forlornly, looking down at the damaged proof of her graduations.
Even though I want to grab Lorraine by the neck and wring the meanness out of her, I look to Mac and say calmly, “What the hell is going on here?”
Her eyes rise to mine and she says quietly, “You broke my frame. ”
Maybe once I wring Lorraine’s neck, I’ll wring Mac’s too. She’s purposely being evasive.
Turning from Mac, I look to Lorraine. My tone is still calm, but there is a bit more anger laced in my words. “I repeat… what is going on here? I heard yelling clear down in my office. ”
Lorraine looks like she’s about ready to puke. Her face is green, and she stands there twisting her hands around one another in a sign of nervous guilt. Mac quietly starts gathering all the scattered papers on her desk, straightening them into a single pile. When she grabs one document off the floor, she looks at it and the corners of her mouth tilt upward slightly.
She hands the paper to Lorraine and says quietly, “Here’s your Order. ”
Lorraine doesn’t take the paper from Mac but rather stares at it in horror with her face blanched pale. Then I watch an interesting byplay between Mac and Lorraine.
Mac keeps her eyes steady on Lorraine, holding the Order out to her. Lorraine slowly drags her gaze from the offensive document and looks at Mac beseechingly. Mac looks at Lorraine with a hard glint for just a moment, and then she opens her mouth like she’s going to say something. Lorraine’s face goes green again.
Then Mac turns to me with a sparkling smile and a sweet voice. “Nothing’s wrong. Just a little disagreement, but we cleared it up. Right, Lorraine?”
Lorraine’s breath comes out in a massive, relieved rush, and she regains some of her color. Giving Mac a grateful look, she turns to me and says, “Right. No problems here. ”
Nice try, Mac. You little liar.
I look back and forth between the two of them, trying to figure out if it’s worth my while to figure out what’s really going on here. But then I decide against it. Mac told me before she doesn’t want my help with any beefs she may have with Lorraine and, in just a few weeks, Lorraine will be gone.
I decide to let it go. “McKayla… let’s meet on the Jackson case so I can get out of here. I’ve got plans tonight. ”
Mac follows docilely behind me to my office, although she doesn’t have a docile bone in her body. I wait for her to choose which chair she wants to sit in, and then I choose to sit in the chair next to her rather than behind my desk, causing her eyebrows to raise.
It’s the closest we’ve been to each other since Monday, and it’s disconcerting. Although I’ve been coming to a slow acceptance that our time together is done, I still have an aching urge to grab her and kiss her.
Looking down at my watch, I say, “I’ve got twenty minutes before I have to leave for dinner. Bill and I are meeting our accountant tonight. ”
I told her that part about Bill and me going out to dinner tonight in an effort to give her full disclosure, since I know I f**ked up earlier in the week by refusing to tell her where I was going. Why I conceded to do that is beyond me. I don’t owe her that courtesy, yet I just gave it to her.
She responds by shrugging her shoulders, as if she could give a damn. “Not any of my business. ”
I just stare at her, pissed she doesn’t appreciate my effort.
Then she really sticks the knife in by adding on, “Sir. ”
My blood boils with anger over the fact she’s deliberately trying to get under my skin with the “sir” routine. She’s been doing it all week in the few interactions we’ve had, even once calling me “Mr. Connover”. None of the attorneys here call me Mr. Connover.
I grit my teeth and narrow my eyes at her, rising to the challenge. To hell with saying I was going to stay out of it. “I want to know what was going on between you and Lorraine. ”