Love Proof (Laws of Attraction) - By Elizabeth Ruston Page 0,53

were actually trying to flirt with Joe’s client, which was made all the worse by the look of horror on her face.

“What was that?” Sarah muttered to Joe when they finally took a break. They weren’t finished with the deposition yet—Chapman still had more questions, and then it was Sarah’s turn—but their flight from Missoula back to Salt Lake City had gotten them there mid-morning, and now it was already time for lunch.

Joe’s client stood beside him, so the most he could give Sarah was a quick, wry smile. But that was enough. It was the first time he had shown her any kind of friendliness at all since their drive back from the ski area the last time they visited that city.

Sarah felt strange being back at the same hotel. She was given a different room than the one where she had been cooped up for so long, but everything else about it felt like déjà vu.

There were a few restaurants nearby, and Sarah found one that served a gourmet sandwich of roasted vegetables and pesto. Now that she had the clothes for it, she decided to sit outside. The day was cold, but sunny. She zipped up her raincoat to keep out the wind, then pulled on her blue fleece hat. She ate by herself, gazing up at the mountains.

What was she doing with her life?

This wasn’t where she expected to be a year ago.

She tried not to think too much about what the day meant, but that was difficult.

Today was her birthday. She had just turned thirty. Nothing was the way she planned.

***

The weeper was back.

Sarah had forgotten her impression of Joe’s client the last time she saw her: that the woman would be great in front of a jury.

Once again, as she had that morning before Sarah had to flee the room, the plaintiff cried as she recounted how long and lux and beautiful her hair once was, and how devastated she was to see nearly half of it go up in flames.

Sarah cringed at the woman’s detailed description. The product really was dangerous. Now that she had a theory about exactly what happened between her own client and Chapman’s client, the primary manufacturer, she felt even more sympathy for the woman than before.

But when it was Sarah’s turn to ask questions, the woman turned on her.

“How would you know what it’s like?” she snapped. “Pretty little thing like you? I’ll bet you just love running your fingers through that thick red hair of yours. How do you think you’d look with half of it burned off? Think you’d be so pretty then? Men would still look at you, but only because you’re a freak—”

“Ms. Tiburon,” Sarah said calmly, “please answer the question. What other hair products and equipment were you using during this same period of time? That would include blow dryers, curling irons, gels, pomades . . . ”

“Everything,” the woman answered. “I’ve tried everything, I use everything, I’m not going to list them out. Do I have to list them out?” she asked Joe.

“To the best of your ability,” he said.

The woman sighed dramatically. And Sarah started thinking she wouldn’t look so good in front of a jury after all. Ordinary citizens appreciated real emotions, but not melodrama. Maybe if Joe worked with his client, the woman could learn to keep her performance in line. But Sarah could already see that the more she pushed this plaintiff, the uglier the woman’s temper became.

By the time Sarah got through her questions, she felt tired and worn out. Some depositions were easier than others, but this one went into the pain-in-the-ass category.

As she gathered up her notes and packed away her laptop, Sarah couldn’t help lingering in the room. Wondering if she’d see some sign of recognition from Joe that he remembered what day it was.

Why would he? Sarah scolded herself. It was one day six years ago—you really think he’d remember? And so what if he does? she had to add. Would that make up for anything?

No, she thought, but it might at least make her feel good to know that someone besides her parents remembered. So far, their phone call that morning while she waited in the Missoula airport had been the brightest part of her day.

“Good night, everybody,” Sarah said, looking at Marcela and no one else. She heard a few mutters in response, then left to return to her room.

It was a little before five o’clock. She could work out, order