Love Proof (Laws of Attraction) - By Elizabeth Ruston Page 0,18

liked the patient’s side of the argument better than the hospital’s. She thought she could do a lot with that.

She knew Joe Burke only by name and sight. And all she knew about his partner Ellen was that she was on the Moot Court board and acted as treasurer. Even though they were all third years, UCLA’s law school was big enough that students only got to know the people in their smaller classes, and so far Sarah hadn’t had any of those with either Joe or Ellen.

Although Sarah did remember one incident involving Joe in her second year, when they were both in the same Federal Tax Law class. He always sat in the back of the large, theater-style classroom, on the opposite side of the room from Sarah. On this particular day he looked like he was sleeping.

Which was exactly why the professor called on him. But instead of proving the professor’s suspicions that he was another one of those lazy students caught partying too much instead of studying, Joe completely nailed the question the professor threw at him. Then he kept on going and gave the professor case law that hadn’t even been cited in the textbook to back up what he was saying.

Sarah, along with most of her classmates, had a good laugh at the whole exchange. Then Joe Burke went back to slouching into his seat like a slacker, even though his cover had just been blown.

Sarah had also seen him around school with a variety of different female companions. And that right there crossed him off whatever list she might have had. She didn’t like players—never had. Like she told Mickey Hughes, she was there at the school to work.

She would make time for a personal life later. Once she had gotten everything she came for.

***

The first time she watched Joe Burke argue his side of the case during one of the practices, she should have known.

He was that good.

That electrifying, that charismatic, that smart.

Trouble.

“Wonder if any of the other teams have thought of that argument,” Sarah murmured to Mickey, who sat beside her in the audience watching.

Even though the two teams were dealing with the same case, they wouldn’t argue against each other at the competition. Each of them would be matched with a team from another school.

And Sarah had to admit she was grateful.

Burke was that good.

Maybe even better than she was.

“He’s not that great,” Mickey muttered back. “We could take him.”

“His partner, for sure,” Sarah said. Ellen underwhelmed them both.

But Burke . . .

When the guest judges were finished questioning him, Joe thanked them all and headed back to his table.

But not before looking straight at Sarah. And smiling.

She looked away as if she’d been caught at something. Because she had.

Mickey nudged her with his elbow. “Let’s go grab a beer.”

Sarah stared at the back of Joe’s head a moment longer before answering, “Not tonight.”

And maybe that was the start of it, she thought later. The moment when she might have faintly written Joe’s name down on her imaginary list.

Like the Flourish list: things she might want but didn’t necessarily need.

Maybe, Sarah thought as she watched him walk out of the room—saw him once again glance her way and deliberately look her in the eye—a guy like Joe Burke could be interesting to know.

But not now. Maybe later.

After she beat him and everyone else in the competition.

Nine

The October depositions rolled past, one by one: the northern California ones—San Francisco, Sacramento, Oakland, San Jose—most of them places Sarah had never visited before. Then on to Las Vegas and Reno. Denver and Colorado Springs. Albuquerque, Phoenix, Tucson—the airports and hotels all became a blur, each one interchangeable as she checked into a new one every night, sat in a conference room all the next day, then flew out again to a new city where she would rinse, repeat, ask her same list of questions.

By mid-November, Sarah spent a weekend compiling some of the information she had gathered: a range of dates for when the product had been purchased, a list of stores or Internet sites where the plaintiffs bought the hair iron, and a spreadsheet detailing how long they used it before it set fire to their hair.

Not a pretty picture.

She e-mailed the information to Mickey’s boss, Calvin, and asked him to forward it to the client.

And then asked for some information in return.

Sarah noticed a pattern: the only claims were for hair irons bought within a specific time period. It was something