Just the Sexiest Man Alive(84)

Taylor snapped her file shut. “Okay—I’m glad we cleared that up.” She looked over at the judge. “I have no further questions, Your Honor.” She returned to the defense table and took her seat next to Derek.

“You love this stuff, don’t you?” Derek whispered teasingly. Taylor hid her smile, not wanting the jury to see. She did, she really did.

Seeing that it was a good time for a break, the judge decided to recess the trial until two. As soon as the judge and jurors had filed out of the courtroom, Frank headed over to Taylor’s table.

“Why don’t we grab lunch, Taylor?” he said casually. “I’d like to talk about how the case is going.”

Derek nudged her knowingly.

Taylor took in her opposing counsel impassively. “Okay. But only if you’re buying, Frank.” She watched as the man got all rigid and indignant.

“I’m only kidding, Frank. Sheesh.”

MIDWAY THROUGH THEIR bagel sandwiches, Frank laid it all on the line.

“This case is a sinking ship, Taylor. The EEOC wants out.”

They were sitting in a coffee shop across the street from the courthouse. The place was packed with lawyers, so Taylor and Frank had chosen a table in the back where they could talk privately.

“That’s quite an about-face from our last settlement negotiations,” Taylor said.

“When you told me to call you when someone saw a penis.”

“Did any ever turn up?”

Taylor stared innocently at Frank, who just sat there, glaring. Then—shockingly—he actually cracked a smile. He shook his head ruefully.

“Not a one.”

Taylor eased back in her chair. She was glad to see Frank finally acting like a human being and all, but business was still business.

“Can I ask what brought about this change of heart?”

“It’s these witnesses. I don’t know what happens, I go through their testimony, I prep them, but then they get on the stand and you crack them like . . .” Frank paused, gesturing, searching for the right word.

“Walnuts?”

“No.”

“Eggs?”

“No.”

“Little bitty pieces of glass?”

Frank looked at her, exasperated. “Are you always like this?”

“It’s part of my charm.”

Frank threw his hands up. “I mean—who reads the gynecologist’s files? Who has time for that? Don’t you have a personal life?”

Taylor nearly coughed up her coffee. She grabbed her napkin to cover. Ahh, Frank . . . if only you knew about little Taylor Donovan from Chicago. She danced at the ball with the Sexiest Man Alive and then spent the rest of her life hiding behind work in order to avoid him.

“The problem with settling now,” Taylor said, “is that my client has already invested a lot amount of money in defending this lawsuit. At this point, we might as well ride the trial out to the end. The way things are going, it’s a better investment for them to pay me to defend this case than to pay your clients to settle.”

“What if your client didn’t have to pay anything at all?” Frank asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

Taylor tilted her head, surprised by this. “What exactly are you proposing?”

“At this point, the EEOC just wants to save face,” Frank told her. “The publicity the agency will get if we lose this case will kill us.” He leaned across the table, outlining his terms. “Here’s the deal: no money, but your client has to agree to yearly training on harassment and discrimination. And the terms of our settlement have to be kept confidential—we’ll issue a joint press release saying only that the parties were able to amicably resolve their dispute.”

Shocked as Taylor was by this proposal, she managed to maintain her skeptical look. It was all part of the lawyer dance.

“I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. “My client really wants this trial victory as vindication. But I’ll let them know about your offer nonetheless.”

Frank sat back in his chair with a confident smile. He may have been a pissy little man at times, but he wasn’t stupid.

“You do that, Taylor. But we both know that this comes down to a simple business decision. When your firm’s fees alone would cost another six figures to finish this trial, your client will never walk away from a chance at a free settlement. That is their vindication.”

And as much as she hated to admit it, Taylor knew Frank was right.

Thirty-one

WITH A LOUD pop, someone cracked open the first bottle of champagne. The party officially kicked into high gear.

Taylor stood in a circle of lawyers, all of whom were eager to offer her their congratulations. To celebrate her victory, the firm had reserved one of the private rooms at the Beverly Hills Four Seasons. The party was packed, as lawyers at her firm were generally enthusiastic about any event that provided them both an excuse to cut loose from work at six o’clock and unlimited free alcohol.

Taylor had a sneaking suspicion that, on this particular occasion, there was an additional factor drawing everyone in like months to a flame. For weeks, stories about her alleged fantastic social life had spread throughout the office (she suspected Linda and the cohorts had a hand in this), and she guessed, from the way everyone at the party looked eagerly at the door each time someone walked in, that they all were hoping a certain you-know-who might drop by.