Love Proof (Laws of Attraction) - By Elizabeth Ruston Page 0,3
court reporter said, offering her hand.
“Sarah Henley—but you already know that,” Sarah added with a smile. The court reporter would have listed the names of all the attorneys present at the beginning of her deposition transcript.
Unlike some lawyers she had met over the years, Sarah always made a point of being nice to the support staff, whether they were court reporters, bailiffs, legal assistants, law clerks—anyone and everyone who did the behind-the-scenes work that she knew made the machinery hum. Having spent years as a secretary herself, she understood the value of a good assistant.
“Hope you don’t mind me saying this,” Marcela said, “but it’s nice to see a woman in there for a change.”
“Thanks,” Sarah said, pushing open the door to the bathroom. “It’s nice having you in there, too. Balances out the macho.”
“That poor woman,” Marcela said, shaking her head.
Sarah smiled politely. “I’m sorry, I’m not allowed to talk to you about that.”
“Oh! Of course,” Marcela said, clearly embarrassed. She disappeared into one of the stalls. “I’m sorry,” she continued from inside. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
The bathroom door swung open again, and Joe Burke’s client entered. She frowned when she saw Sarah, and quickly went to one of the empty stalls. Sarah was used to opposing parties hating her—of course she was the enemy, the evil lawyer, all of that. It went with the territory. She rarely took it personally.
But she’d also stopped trying to make sure everyone liked her. If people thought she was evil, so be it. If they thought she was a bitch, oh well. Like her mother always said, “You’re not a bite of candy. Not everybody’s going to love you.”
Sarah checked her hair, her makeup, her suit, and satisfied that she still looked put together, quickly moved to the last empty stall before the other two women could emerge. She stayed where she was until she heard them both leave. Then she came out and spent a few extra minutes washing her hands and looking herself in the eye in the mirror.
He’s just a man. He’s no one special. He was six years ago.
No, Sarah corrected herself, five years, ten months, and three days.
She gave herself a mean, steely gaze in the mirror.
“Go show him,” she whispered to herself.
Although she knew what she really meant was, Make him suffer.
Two
“Hello, Mrs. Franklin, thank you for coming in today,” Sarah began. “My name is Sarah Henley. I’m the attorney for Mason Manufacturing. They provided the heating element for the Atheena hair iron you purchased.”
Darlene Franklin folded her arms over her chest and glared at Sarah.
“Speaking personally,” Sarah continued, “I’m very sorry for what you went through. I’m sure that had to be horrible.”
She could see the woman soften. Just a little.
“Is that official?” Joe asked.
“As I said,” Sarah repeated without looking at him, “I was speaking personally, woman to woman. Now, Mrs. Franklin,” she went on before Joe could make any more of that statement—which really was just a tactic to make his client feel more comfortable and hopefully less hostile—“I only have a few questions for you, then we can let you be on your way.”
She smiled, but Mrs. Franklin did not smile back. That was fine.
Sarah asked her few simple questions—fewer than ten of them—then smiled again at Joe’s client and thanked her for her time.
The court reporter waited for Joe, to see if he had any questions of his own.
“We’re done,” he said. “Thank you.” He took a few minutes to escort his client from the room, then returned, checking his watch. “Next one’s at one o’clock, then I assume we’re all on the same five-thirty flight. Think you can condense some of your questions, Paul, so we can make it?”
“I’ll take as much time as I need,” Chapman answered.
“Of course.” Joe looked at Sarah, obviously expecting her to signal in some way that she, too, thought Chapman was an idiot. Instead she resumed typing her notes from the deposition.
“How about you, Sarah?” Joe asked. “Are you on the five-thirty?”
“I don’t know,” she said without looking up, “probably.” Although she knew very well she had chosen that flight instead of the one two hours later. She hoped to have a light dinner somewhere cheap, then go to bed at a decent hour so she could wake up early enough to work out before the next morning’s deposition. But none of that was Joe’s business.
The court reporter finished putting away her equipment. Sarah looked up and smiled. “Thank you, Marcela. We appreciate