M.J. Rodgers - Beauty Vs. The Beast

“My argument will be that since no corporal death has in fact occurred, there is no legal basis for a wrongful-death suit.”

Marc nodded. “Good logical approach. Think it will work?”

Kay smiled at his question. “I have an ace up my sleeve if it doesn’t.”

He smiled back. “You always do.”

“I had better have on this one. Getting up to speed for a trial by Monday isn’t exactly the way I want to spend my weekend.”

Octavia Osborne exploded into that rich, throaty, uninhibited laugh that danced around the room and brought out the worst of Kay’s envy. At five foot eleven, Octavia was a statuesque redhead whose perfect grooming and gorgeous clothes always exuded the kind of natural flamboyance and woman-of-the-world sophistication that Kay knew she could never emulate. Octavia leaned toward her, a knowing twinkle in her sagacious eyes.

“Come on, Kay. That’s just the way you’d like to spend your weekend. Talk about a lady with all work and no play in her life. You turn in almost as many billable hours each month as Adam here, and we all know he eats and sleeps in his office.”

Kay shrugged. She didn’t take Octavia’s observation as a reprimand. On the contrary. She was proud of who she was.

“Okay, I confess. I’m the product of a long line of workaholics. It’s in the genes. We Kelloggs enter the world with an inherent proclivity to pounce right from the womb into the work force. We can’t help but get excited about our jobs.”

Beautifully arched eyebrows rose above Octavia’s eyes. She plucked a couple of grapes from the lazy Susan with long, graceful fingers. She reminded Kay of one of those regal and ravishing ladies who graced ancient Grecian urns.

“But even those workaholic parents of yours found time to...ah...get excited about other things, otherwise you wouldn’t be here,” Octavia’s smiling mouth said. “Now, as a fellow partner in this firm, I sincerely appreciate all that hard work of yours that contributes to my paycheck. But as a fellow woman, I’m letting you in on a little secret. Taking time out for some fun can be rewarding, too.”

Kay looked away from Octavia’s directed glance and fiddled with her file of papers as Damian Steele’s ruggedly handsome face unexpectedly and unexplainably materialized in her mind.

Octavia leaned closer, a sweep of an ultralight, ultrasophisticated fragrance advancing before her. “You could always start by asking the sinfully sexy Dr. Steele to show you his couch.”

Kay felt the uncomfortable jolt of Octavia’s words, so close to her unbidden mental image. Her back straightened as she scrambled to collect her scattered thoughts. “He’s a client. You know I would never—”

“Never say never, Kay,” Octavia interrupted, holding up an admonishing finger, while at the same time letting the twinkle in her eyes and smile soften her reprimand as she popped the grapes into her mouth.

Kay’s shoulders relaxed. Her partner was just being her playful, kidding self. Why was she taking Octavia’s jab about Damian Steele so seriously? It wasn’t like Kay to be so touchy. No, it wasn’t like her at all.

Octavia relaxed back in her chair as a small frown interrupted the smooth surface of her forehead. “I wish I could remember where I heard his name before, though. I’ve never met him or I’m sure I would have recognized his face when you introduced him around. But his name is definitely familiar. It’s maddening not being able to recall.”

“So you’ve been telling us since Monday,” Marc said. “Could it be that after catching a glimpse of this Dr. Steele, you’re the one who’s interested in checking out him and his couch?”

Octavia stretched back in her conference chair. Beneath her long lashes, her eyes glowed in a combination of confidence and amusement.

“ Me? Interested in a man whose life is devoted to hearing women confess their deepest secrets? Not on your life, Marc. I want a man who is far more fascinated with the woman who reveals nothing.”

“Who’s opposing counsel?” Adam asked.

The senior partner’s question brought Kay’s focus back to the case at hand, as he no doubt had intended it should. She turned in his direction.

“Name’s Rodney Croghan. Drew a blank with me. Ring a bell for anyone?”

Adam and Octavia both shook their heads.

Marc nearly choked on his last bite of bran muffin. He reached for his cup of coffee to quickly wash it down. “Rodney Croghan? You’re sure it’s Rodney Croghan?”

“You know him, Marc?” Kay asked, not too surprised that a name that didn’t seem familiar to anyone else in the room would register with him. Marc got around.

“I do if there aren’t two attorneys with that same name. I was down in Olympia visiting friends a few years ago when a buddy asked me to sit in on a case he was trying. Rodney Croghan, an unknown associate with a big firm, was his legal adversary. My friend thought he had an unbeatable line of attack, everything sewed up tight, no loose ends. Croghan wiped up the courtroom with him.”

“Croghan’s that good?” Octavia asked as she leaned forward, her interest immediately sparkling in her eyes and tone.

“I think devious would be a more accurate description,” Marc said. “Croghan tried some off-the-wall legal shenanigans you wouldn’t have believed. Took everyone in the courtroom by surprise. The guy walked a very thin, dangerously high, ethical tightrope during that trial, I can tell you. Made me queasy just watching him.”

Kay tapped her fingers on the conference table. “Lawyers generally stay in their hometown where they’ve established their name and are familiar with the process, people and legal procedures. What is Croghan doing up here in Seattle?”

“Good question,” Marc agreed. “Maybe you’d best give AJ a call and start her investigators on a background check of Croghan.”

“I’ll wait to see how Friday morning goes first before bringing in AJ,” Kay said. “I really do expect to get the case dismissed.”

“Which judge did you draw?” Adam asked.

“A stodgy one, but that’s good. Frederick I. Ingle III.”

“Not good,” Octavia said, shaking her head.

“Not good?” Kay echoed, clearly surprised. “How can you say that? I had Ingle a couple of years ago in a personal-injury suit and he couldn’t have been more by the book. If this Croghan tries any funny legal business, Ingle is just the judge who will slap him into place.”

Octavia shook her head. “Maybe a couple of years ago, Kay, but Ingle has expanded his professional horizons. Last month his first novel was published and he’s no longer the same man.”

“He’s written a novel? About what?”

“It’s supposed to be based on one of his cases.”

“How could his writing a novel about one of his cases cause a problem?”

“Because of what the critics have said about it. They admit his writing is competent but call his main character—who just happens to be a judge—boring, and then added something about if the author was truly writing from real-life experience, he needed to go out and get a new life. They weren’t too complimentary about his plot, either. ‘Yawning, mundane material,’ I think the phrase went.”

“So he didn’t produce a legal thriller. I still don’t see how that should affect my case before him.”

“Ingle has apparently taken the criticism to heart, Kay. He’s been seen in some wild getup, scooting around Seattle in a new red Corvette. Inside the courtroom, his legal judgment is taking a similarly...ah...colorful turn.”

“How do you mean?”

“He’s flat out told parties to suits that they better settle them out of his court because they’re simply too ‘mundane’ for him to have to preside over in a trial. Do you know how delighted he’s going to be when he finds out what your case involves?”