Legally Tender

In a movement of control, Bruce sat down at the table. Christina remained standing. “Let’s get a few things straight. I’m a Lancaster. I’m the founder’s direct descendant. Roy Lancaster is my grandfather. Remember the Supreme Court case Wedlock v. Storm? He argued that one, and only one judge dissented. I descend from multiple generations of legal stock. I was top of my class and got the highest score on the bar that year. I could have worked anywhere.”

She jutted her chin. “Your point is?”

The right corner of his mouth twitched. “Tell me, why should I be upset about waiting another year for a partnership? I’ll be old and gray and this will still be my firm, my heritage. It will belong to my children, my sons and daughters. So don’t try to use your pseudo-psychology on me. I’m not angry about the partnership. You couldn’t be more wrong.”

He paused for a few seconds, and Christina knew the litigator inside him wasn’t finished. He’d only just begun.

And as much as she didn’t relish the conflict, she found it slightly invigorating. She could already tell that he had a razor-sharp mind. He was quick on his feet, a man in control. He was self-assured, even when dealt a blow. She had to admit this man intrigued and stirred something inside her.

“Hmm,” he finally said, “let’s see how clever you really are and if we can do what you suggested and clear the air enough so that we can work together. How about you start by telling me what I have to work with. Since I was in Indianapolis, I missed your interview with Reginald. You only interviewed with him, correct?”

“Yes, once past the initial screening.”

“That’s what I thought. Your hiring went quickly. How many cases have you won lately?”

“That’s on my résumé. I’m sure you could ask to see it. Or tomorrow I’ll provide you a copy. I was a junior partner fast-tracked for a senior role at my last firm.”

“So you feel you’re qualified to work here?”

“Of course. There were other finalists and Reginald Morris thought I was the best. I did graduate Harvard top of my class. I did not just go there for an MRS degree.” She paused only briefly. “I also have impeccable references.”

He rolled his eyes. “Ah, stop avoiding the question. That’s not what I asked. I asked how many cases you’d won lately. Do me a favor and be frank. I can at least respect honesty. Now you might understand why I’m truly upset. It’s been eight years since you’ve last practiced. This is my case. I brought it in. I’m going to win it. While you might have had an impressive record years ago, your major qualification is that you speak Spanish.”

“We—”

“Don’t interrupt unless you have good reason to object. It’s impolite and frowned on, especially in court. Let me simply sum up. You are here to be the female attorney the women can relate to, and to play interpreter. That’s not any type of sexual harassment, either, just role definition and job description. You haven’t had trial experience in years, and I’m not going to let you waltz in here and start over with a case as important and groundbreaking as this one. You’re an outsider here, and that can be as grating as nails on a chalkboard.”

“I’m—”

He ignored her interruption. “None of these women will know what Harvard is, much less know where it is. Most of them didn’t even finish grade school. They won’t wear designer shoes. They can’t even afford the clothes that they make, even though they slave over each and every stitch. This is rural Indiana, not some big city. It’s not an area that’s culturally assimilated, or that has resources that celebrate ethnic heritage. You may be the same ethnicity as they are, but you are so far above them socially and economically that you might as well be one hundred percent white.”

“Are you done?” Christina asked, her posture rigid.

“No, I’m not.” Bruce swallowed, drawing his cheeks tight. “This is not playtime. It’s not some genie costume, set off a smoke machine and everything will still be okay. Harassment is real for these women, and any misstep might cost us this case, and their futures, dearly. That I will not allow.”

Christina froze her face into neutral and resisted the urge to clench her hands into fists and beat Bruce Lancaster into a pulp as she once had her cousin during a visit to Mexico City. She’d beenten. He’d pulled her pigtails.

Bruce Lancaster had done much worse. He’d insulted her integrity. He’d judged her incompetent based on a series of events beyond her control. He’d also belittled her—almost, but not quite, as much as Kyle.

Bruce was a jerk, probably just as bad as the ones they would be fighting. Mr. Hunk might be attractive, but he was not nice.

She took a deep breath and gave herself a much-needed continuance. She and Bruce would finish this conversation later, after she’d proved herself. Then she would rub his nose into every word he’d said. He deserved nothing less.

“Well,” she managed calmly, her face a mask to hide her inner fury. “Now that you’ve finished venting in a misguided attempt to put me in my place, shall we actually begin to work on the case, or shall we continue to simply waste more valuable time?”

He stared at her, blue eyes wary, and she knew she’d caught him off guard.

“You see, Bruce—may I call you Bruce? I might not have a win record as long or impressive as yours, or even have close to your extensive courtroom experience, but that doesn’t make me incompetent. I had an ex who spent years trying to prove that I was, and if he didn’t succeed in convincing me, you won’t, either. You’ve tried and convicted me based on circumstantial evidence and preconceived notions. Let me assure you, I won’t fail.”

“I don’t have time for you to,” he returned, his tone never losing its edge.

“And I won’t.” Christina leveled her brown eyes at him and held his gaze without blinking. Her body hummed with energy. “So why don’t we do what we’ve been hired to do for these women, hmm? Shall you and I declare a much-needed truce, at least until you find some real evidence against me?”

He crossed his arms and studied her. His gaze traveled from her tight chignon, over the designer blue suit and down to her matching heels. “The jury’s still out,” he said flatly.

“Fair enough,” she agreed. For now. Kyle had done enough damage over the years to her self-esteem. Bruce Lancaster had another thing coming if he thought she would simply roll over. She would never do that again, for anyone.

He gestured to a stack of brown expandable folders at one end of the table. “Those files contain the original interview notes. We’ve done no formal depositions at this time.”

Bruce rose, moved a few steps and tapped a different stack of folders. She noticed his tightly clipped and filed nails—guy’s nails that hadn’t been professionally manicured.

“These files contain the violation reports that we’ve filed with the EEOC,” Bruce continued. Christina knew the EEOC was the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission, the government agency in charge of overseeing all Title VII violations.

“Over there are the books I’ve pulled that have case history and applicable laws. Precedent is on our side, but with the recent changes in affirmative action legislation, there may be some chiseling at the sexual harassment laws, as well. Some of the women’s cases are much stronger than others. We’ve already filed EEOC complaints on all of them, and submitted a demand letter to the company. If the company meets our demands, we’ll settle. But if not, once the EEOC allows us to, we’re filing in federal court for multiple violations of Title VII. Where do you want to start?”

“The beginning,” Christina said, regaining some calm now that he was being reasonable. “That’s usually the best place. Take me in chronological order.”

“Okay.” Bruce nodded and returned to his seat. She followed suit and sat herself opposite him.

They were still sitting there, engrossed in work, four hours later when Angela knocked on the door and opened it. So caught up in the case, Christina hadn’t even realized that the time had passed.

“I brought you both some lunch,” Angela said.

“Thanks,” Bruce replied easily, his demeanor relaxed, as if his working straight through the morning and lunch without a break was commonplace.

“I hope turkey sandwiches are okay,” Angela said as she handed Bruce the deli bag.

“Perfect,” Bruce said.

“They’re fine,” Christina agreed with a nod. Ever since she’d been pregnant with Bella, sliced turkey had held little appeal, mostly she ate vegan. But today she’d force herself to eat whatever sandwiches were in the bag. Her stomach growled. After all, it was after one.

Angela passed Christina the sack. “I bought two kinds of potato chips. Bruce likes sour cream and onion, but I got you plain, Ms. Jones.”

“Christina,” she corrected. “Plain chips are fine. Thank you for getting lunch.”

Angela smiled. “Oh, it’s no problem. I know how driven Bruce is. He wouldn’t eat at all if I didn’t force-feed him. Besides, I had an excuse to get a chicken salad sandwich from Kim’s Deli. Ever since I’ve been pregnant, I’ve craved her chicken salad.”

Angela paused. “So, do you require anything else? The small fridge on the floor over there is stocked with water and pop.”

Christina wished she’d known that earlier. Her throat was parched, and some soda would do her good. Having been raised in Houston, where everyone called the fizzy beverage “soda,” Christina still hadn’t gotten used to calling it “pop” the way these Indiana Midwesterners did.

“I think we’re fine,” Bruce said. His expression dared Christina to contradict him.

“I’m good,” she said. She pushed her chair back a little. “If you’d excuse me for a moment, though.”

“The women’s washroom is this way,” Angela offered, as if reading Christina’s mind. She held open the door, and Christina followed her out. Time to find more common ground and make some connection with Angela. If not, it would be long case.

“My feet are already tired. Is there a masseuse in there?”

“I wish,” Angela said, taking the bait and talking. “I’ve gained two shoe sizes. My husband has the nightly chore of rubbing my feet. He hates it, but it’s heaven for me.”

“You’re lucky to have a husband like that.” Kyle hadn’t done a thing except complain that when pregnant, she’d appeared as if she had a basketball wedged under her clothes.

“Oh, my Bryan is such a sweetheart,” Angela confirmed. “We got married two years ago and it still seems like a honeymoon.” Angela paused at the bathroom door. “You seem really nice, Christina. Don’t let Bruce get you down. He’s a slave driver, but that’s only because he’s so good at his job. He can’t do anything less than one hundred and ten percent. It’s not in his nature.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m fine,” Christina insisted.

Angela bought the white lie, for she said, “Perfect. He’s a great boss. He really knows his stuff. Scored the highest on the bar, as I’m sure you’ve heard. And whatever you do, don’t believe any of his so-called Casanova reputation. All made up by angry Morrisville women who can’t land him. He’s too married to his work. Anyway, call me if you have any more questions.”

“I will,” Christina said as she pushed the door open and stepped inside the women’s washroom. After finishing her business and washing her hands, she took a long moment to study herself in the mirror. Tendrils of wheat-colored hair had come loose, and she pinned them back up. Her brown eyes were puffy, the result of her thinking she’d get an extra hour of sleep during “fall back.” Thank goodness for Angela bringing food. When Christina had fled the house that morning, she hadn’t given a thought to lunch. Tomorrow she’d pack one.

She headed back to the small conference room. Bruce was on the phone, the remains of his sandwich lying on the restaurant wrapper. Next to it sat a twenty-ounce bottle of cola, half-full.

“Go research the dissenting opinion on Martin v. Blatt. The judges locked two-one on it, and the uproar was so strong that the legislature went and voted in a law claiming that justice wasn’t served. I think you’ll find what you’re wanting for your closing arguments there. The minute I hang up, I’ll put Jessica on it and have her fax you the documents.”

Bruce gestured toward Christina’s unopened food as he listened to the caller. Eat, he mouthed before speaking into the phone again. “No, I wouldn’t even open that can of worms. You don’t want the jury off track from the main case. Always hammer your point, and reiterate that justice should be served.” He paused. “Yeah. See you at five.”

He hung up the phone and stared for a moment at Christina. “Get some pop.”

He then pressed a button on the phone. “Jessica, Bruce. Dig up the dissenting opinion on Martin v. Blatt and get it over to Colin at Ripley, ASAP. Yeah. It’s that important. No, I’m not going over there myself today. Just put a move on it. As if the deadline was yesterday. Colin is counting on you.”

He ended the speakerphone call and raised his eyes to observe that Christina was still standing. “What? Do I have food on my face?”

“No.”

“I work through lunch,” Bruce offered as explanation. “Always have. It’s more efficient than taking five minutes to go outside and stare at the birds. Too cold for that, anyway, now that the front moved through last night.”

Christina walked over to the refrigerator and withdrew a 7-Up. Although she could use the caffeine, there was no Mountain Dew and she didn’t like colas.

“That was Colin Morris,” Bruce said, unexpectedly explaining the phone call. “You’ll meet him at some point, I’m sure. He’s a junior partner like me. He’s also Reginald’s son.”

“He needed help on a case?”

“Surprises are never desired in closing arguments, and the opposing counsel just landed a whopper. But Colin will rebound. He always does.”

“And you just popped the answer right off the top of your head.”

“Yeah.” Bruce let the words, “I’m that good a lawyer” remain unspoken, but Christina heard them and was begrudgingly impressed. “I have a photographic memory and I’m good at trivia. One of these days I’d like to go on Jeopardy”

“I don’t watch much television.” She didn’t. Bella had discovered the cartoon channels. When she was married, Kyle had had a VHS-DVD-CD player and a plasma TV in every room. Christina had little use for more than one TV and a DVD player.

“So, where were we?” Bruce asked as she unscrewed the cap and put the soda bottle to her lips.

“I’d like a few minutes to eat in peace,” Christina said. “Unlike you, I deliberately avoid working through lunch. That way I can have some time to clear my mind. I’d go find my office, but that would take too much time.”

“They really did just throw you into the job feet first, didn’t they? Fine. Eat.” Bruce tapped his fingers on the table.

“Stop that,” Christina said automatically, and unwrapped her sandwich. Bruce’s fingers stilled.

“Thank you,” Christina said. “That’s better.” She took off the top slice of sourdough bread. Sliced turkey, some white cheese that might be Swiss, tomatoes, lettuce, mayonnaise and black olives were underneath. Christina pulled some plastic tableware from the bag, removed the knife from the protective wrapper and began scraping the olives off the six-inch sandwich.

“That seems like a waste,” Bruce observed, his lips puckering.

“I don’t eat olives,” she informed him simply. “Of any kind.”

He shrugged. “Just make sure Angela knows what you like and she’ll get it for you.”

“I’ll bring my lunch from now on,” she said as she finished scraping.

“You have a food account,” Bruce replied with a backward roll of his shoulders. “All the partners have an allowance, including the junior ones. It’s there for times like today, or for when you entertain clients. Did they forget to tell you that, too?”

“It probably slipped my mind since I’m not entertaining at this moment,” Christina said. Lovely. Now she probably appeared even more incompetent, making Bruce Lancaster feel even more superior. “I just prefer to bring my own food. I’ll only be able to eat half of this.”

She should remove the cheese, as well, but the cheese would drown out the flavor of the turkey. Pregnancy sure had changed her taste buds as well as her figure. She’d needed a nutritionist, a personal trainer and ten months of hard work to get back to her prepregnancy shape. By that time Kyle had had two road affairs, both with cocktail waitresses he’d picked up.

Christina had managed her weight with diet and exercise ever since, although now maintaining her weight was more of a healthy choice, and not anything that had to do with pleasing Kyle.

She returned the bread to the top of the sandwich and cut the sandwich into halves. She pushed one half aside. Then she saw Bruce’s expression. “Are you still hungry? You can have the rest. Seriously.”

“If you don’t want it,” he said. His arm snaked forward and he retrieved the sandwich. “Angela usually gets me a foot-long, but maybe today she was trying to keep everything the same.”

Christina opened the bag of chips. It had been forever since she’d indulged and they were like forbidden fruit—too tempting. She’d only have a few. “She remembered your flavor of potato chips.”

“To forget that is sacrilege,” Bruce informed her as the conference room phone began to ring. He lifted the receiver. “Bruce Lancaster.” His face darkened as he listened. “No, it’s good you interrupted me. Tell her I’ll be right there. She has to go in to work today. She cannot stay off the job. That will allow them to legitimately fire her. Tell her that she’ll be safer today than ever before.”

He put the phone down and stood, his portion of her sandwich remaining untouched. “We’ve got a crisis. Can you eat that on the way? Or I can buy you a hamburger on the way back? That is, if you’re coming with me.”

Her decision was instantaneous, even though she had no clue what he was talking about. “Of course I am.” She rose to her feet. “What’s happening?”

“One of our plaintiffs is refusing to go to work today. She missed two days last week, and if she misses today without a doctor’s excuse, the company will have legitimate reason to fire her.”

“We’re taking her to the doctor?” Christina asked.

Bruce was already halfway down the hall. “No. We’re taking her to work.”

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