Mitigation Page 4

Page 4

  It doesn’t work.

  Matt leans over and whispers, “You got this, Mac. Piece of cake. ”

  I turn to look at him. He’s looking at me with such confidence that I feel a bit of it infuse inside of me. He continues to stare at me, conveying the same message.

  You got this, Mac.

  When the judge asks for my arguments, I stand on shaky legs. I will admit there is a moment where I think all my brain function has died. I go blank.

  Then it comes flooding back to me, and I start talking. I give the judge a short background of the case and explain why we are before him today. I quote the Rules of Civil Procedure, even perfectly laying out the portion that applies to our case. I assure him that there is no law to the contrary, that the facts of the case fall squarely within this rule, and that I respectfully ask His Honor to grant our Motion to Compel.

  When I’m done, I sit back down and listen carefully to the other attorney make his argument.

  It’s kind of lame to be honest.

  Then the judge is granting my motion. . . in essence, claiming me the victor. I want to stand up and do a football-touchdown dance, or do my “neener” move to the other attorney, both of which would assuredly land me in jail on contempt of court charges. So I just walk over to my opponent and shake his hand.

  Matt gives me a short smile and congratulates me. He then tells me to head back to the office on my own as he has a few other matters to attend to at the courthouse.

  I’m riding so high on my first real court appearance… and a victory to boot, that all my other worries just sort of melt away. This is what I’m supposed to be doing. McKayla Dawson is going to make a hell of a litigator.

  When I get back to the office, I can’t help but relate the entire scenario to our receptionist, Bea, but I can tell when her eyes glaze over that she could care less. She listens to me with a painted smile and nods like she understands, but I’m betting inside she’s probably wondering what to eat for dinner that night.

  With no other victory parade to attend to, I head back to my office and get back to work reviewing the slip and fall case Matt had given me. He’s right… the case is pretty craptastic. It was some bonehead walking through a grocery store that didn’t notice the dark red cranberry juice that had spilled in a huge puddle on the white flooring.

  Hello, open and obvious danger.

  Yeah, I was going to lose this case, but Matt said it would be good to cut my teeth on. That also meant no pressure.

  A knock on my door causes me to look up, and it’s Matt. I’d like to tell you that I could look at him without my blood racing through my veins or my heart tripping all over itself.

  But I’d be lying.

  “Can I come in?” he asks.

  “Sure,” I tell him and watch as he steps in and closes the door behind him.

  I expect him to sit down across from me, but he walks right up to where I’m sitting. His hand reaches out and cups me behind the neck, pulling me up from the chair.

  I’m powerless to stop, my body betraying me quickly.

  Matt leans in and nuzzles my neck. “I’m coming home with you tonight, Mac. ”

  His voice is low, husky… filled with promise. It makes my toes curl inside my pumps.

  Yes, home with me. That is what every part of my body is telling my brain.

  Well… not every part. My heart rears its ugly head up and practically roars at me. “Don’t be a fool, McKayla. ”

  My hands come up to Matt’s chest, and I push him back. I keep pushing until he releases me, and there’s a foot of space between us.

  “No,” I tell him firmly. “You’re not. ”

  Anger flashes across his face. “I don’t get it. You want me, and I want you. Why are you being this way?”

  “I do want you,” I admit. “I want you a lot. But I want more than just sex. I need more than just sex. ”

  He stares at me, confusion written all over his beautiful face. His words are slow and cautious when he asks, “What more do you need?”

  “I want a relationship. Dating, conversation, shared secrets. I want it all, Matt. I deserve it all. ”

  He soaks in what I’m saying, but then his shoulders sag slightly. “I don’t have that to give. ”

  “Yeah, you do,” I tell him. “You showed me you do in Nashville. You have a lot to give. ”

  I reach my hand out, intending to take his in mine. To give him soft and reassuring contact, so my skittish beast of a man doesn’t flee.

  Too late. He steps back out of my reach and his face hardens. “Are you seeing someone?” he asks with suspicion. Then it’s like a look of horror that crosses his face. “Fuck… please don’t tell me you’re dating Cal. ”

  “No, I’m not dating Cal. We’re just friends. ”

  Mocking condescension. Yup… that’s all over Matt’s face right now. “Please… that man just wants in your pants, and he’ll get there, too. ”

  “He doesn’t want in my pants,” I snap. “You’re just going to have to trust me on that. ”

  One side of Matt’s upper lip curls skyward, and he practically snarls at me. “See, that’s just it. I don’t trust you. ”

  That feels like an arrow shooting straight through my heart. I try to remember what Matt has been through, and I try to reason to myself that he’s this way because of past betrayal. But damn… it still hurts.

  “I’ll ask one more time… Let me come home with you tonight. I won’t ask again, McKayla. ” His voice is soft… with an almost underlying hint of pleading in it. I want to give in. I want to take him home and show him how good I can be to him… for him. But I’m deluding myself that it would ever lead to something that is good for me.

  Shaking my head sadly, I say, “I’m sorry. I can’t. ”

  Matt doesn’t like that. Doesn’t like it at all. His eyes go frigid, and his chin comes up. He’s mad, but he’s also being rejected, and I know that hurts. I hope to God it is just anger speaking when he says, “No skin off my back. You’re not the only game in town. ”

  He turns away before I can even respond and saunters out of my office.

  I’m struggling when I get off the elevator, trying to hold my coffee, hitching up my briefcase over my shoulder, and tottering in four-inch heels and a skirt that doesn’t do more than let me shimmy around. Add on to that the fact I haven’t gotten any sleep this week, and I’m in a poor to piss-poor mood.

  If you’re counting, that means I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in exactly six days. Not since I told Matt that this was over, and he implied that he was heading back to One Night Only.

  Bea watches me walk in, her face grim and full of doom. My stomach drops. “What is he?”

  “I’d say about a fifteen?”

  “A fifteen?” I ask in shock.

  “Yup. It’s bad. ”

  Turning to look back longingly at the elevator, I briefly consider just heading home and having a sick day. I can’t take another day like this. I wonder if Matt’s bad mood is because he’s not getting his regular sex fix from me, but then I shake that thought away. He’s getting it… just not from me, so that can’t be the reason.

  You see, each day Bea and I have taken to a ranking system to judge Matt’s mood. It’s becoming increasingly fouler every day. It’s a simple one-to-ten scale, and he had topped out at a ten yesterday when he yelled at a secretary, causing her to run from the office in tears with Miss Anders hot on her heels, trying to comfort her.

  But today… Bea says he’s a fifteen, and that is probably bordering on a nuclear explosion.

  My plan? Keep my head down and stay buried in my office, only surfacing to make a mad dash to the bathroom to pee. But if I don’t drink any coffee or water, I can probably go all day without having to leave the sanctity of my office and risking a run in with Matt.

  I’d like to tell you every day away from Matt is easier, but it’s not. I
miss him, plain and simple. Yes, of course I miss the sex. Hello… have you read what we’ve done so far? But it is more than that. I miss his wit, his intellect, and his charm. When he’s operating at a fifteen though, it’s guaranteed I won’t be seeing that any time in the near future.

  When I get to my office, I log on to my computer and check my email. My eyes go immediately to the one that is flagged in red from Matt. It says, “Jackson Case - Urgent - see me when you get in. ”

  That’s it… nothing else, no indication of what’s wrong. And now I have to go into the bear’s den when he’s at a fifteen. This is shaping up to be a spectacular day.

  Matt grunts out a terse, “Come in,” when I knock on his door. For once, he’s not on the phone but sitting behind his desk, reading a file. When I sit down, he pushes the file aside, reaches across his desk to grab a thick document, and then hands it across to me.

  At a glance, I can see it is the rough draft of the Answers to Interrogatories I prepared in the Jackson case for him to review. Seeing as how it was the first set I had ever done, I needed him to review them for legal accuracy. What stands out the most to me, is the red ink that spreads across the top sheet. Flipping briefly through the pages, I see more red ink… slashes and slashes of it, marking up my words, and mauling my legalese. It looks like Lizzie Borden got ahold of it… a freakin’ blood bath.

  When I look up at Matt, his face is hard and his eyes icy. “I’m disappointed in you, McKayla. The draft you handed in to me was sub-standard at best. A first-year law student could have done better. ”

  My face flushes red, embarrassment practically seeping out of my pores. I am a perfectionist and to be told my work is bad tears me up inside. I don’t understand it because I had done meticulous research and studied several examples of other Interrogatory answers to use as a go-by. When I handed it in to Matt, I thought I’d get it back with an A+++ and a smiley face… maybe a gold star glued to the front.

  Flipping through the pages, I focus on his mark-ups to see exactly where I failed. As my eyes move from red mark to red mark, my face goes crimson again, but this time, it’s heating up with fury. Matt’s corrections have nothing to do with the quality of my legal work. They’re all picky issues over the semantics on how to word something. For example, he crossed out the word “instantaneously” and wrote above it “instantly”. And that was just one example. Page after page I flip through, and I only spot one area where he has a legitimate gripe… where I placed an objection improperly.

  When I glance back up at him, he’s watching me with interest, his eyebrows raised slightly to see what my reaction will be. He’s ready for me to erupt, and I think he’ll be disappointed if I don’t. He’s expecting a fight, and he wants to uncork the tempest that must be brewing inside of him.

  He’s a fifteen, I remind myself. So I say with measured calm, “Matt… some of these corrections are just semantics. I think it’s a little unfair to call my work sub-standard when you are basically disagreeing with word choices. ”

  His voice is sharp and laced with disdain when he says, “Word choices in a legal document can make or break a case. You could sink an entire claim with just one poorly chosen word. It’s a lesson you desperately need, and I’m going to make sure you learn it. Furthermore, you are not to ever question my opinions on your work again. ”

  Okay, that does it… Fifteen or not, I’m not going to let him walk all over me. Matt Fucking Connover is going to get a piece of my mind.

  Standing up from my chair, I put my palms on his desk and lean in. “You are being completely unfair. You’re taking your anger out on me when it’s not deserved. ”

  Matt stands up, placing his palms opposite mine, and leans in as well. His voice is controlled, but laced with menace. “I’m not taking my anger out on you. I’m telling you that your work product is poor. Learn the difference. ”