Total D*ck(4)

“Right, Carmichael. Like I said, your boss needs a closer. I don’t need this case.” He waved his hand around his office. “I built my empire from following my own leads, not taking handouts from lawyers who didn’t even have the decency to show up here and ask me themselves.”

“You’ve made your point, Mr. Granade.” I stepped into the hallway, my need to cut him down to size almost overcoming my decorum. Almost, but not quite. Charm school and debutante balls had made their mark, and above all, I’d learned to maintain a polite, if cold, demeanor. He followed behind me, dogging my steps through his ramshackle office. I refused to speed my pace and strode toward the front door with my head held high, my shoulders balanced even as I walked in heels.

I turned the creaking front door handle, and was about to step out when Granade asked, “So what’s the damages? What does Porter think he can recover? Has he even done any investigation or even basic math yet? I doubt it.”

He stood behind me, too close for my comfort. I straightened my back and glanced over at Faye. She watched, her reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose, with a slight smile creasing the corner of her lips.

I released the door handle and turned before giving Mr. Granade the withering stare that had wilted quite a few would-be suitors and rivals during the past few years. “I have run the numbers. I have begun the preliminary investigation. I am taking the lead on this case in Mr. Porter’s absence. I graduated summa cum laude from Vanderbilt Law School with a J.D. and an L.L.M. And I was handpicked by Mr. Rhone himself to serve as first-chair counsel in this case. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have more candidates to interview.”

His eyes grew bigger with each of my words until he looked like he was choking. Good. Glancing to my side, I noticed Faye grinning big, approval written all over her face. I turned and opened the door.

As I stepped out onto the porch, I added without turning around, “And based on my preliminary estimate concerning the trade secrets that were misappropriated, I expect the damages figure to easily clear a quarter of a billion dollars.” I yanked the door shut behind me with a satisfying thunk.

Kennedy

“About forty-one million dollars, give or take. Then you’d have to pay taxes on it, of course. But just the income rate.” Faye propped her chin on her hand.

“What?” I was still staring at the door, wondering what the hell just happened.

“That’s what your cut would be if you won a two-hundred-fifty-million-dollar verdict. Just thought you might want to know that before you insult her any more.”

My hangover turned into a clogging party on the inside of my skull, and I could feel the blood draining from my face. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, Faye!” I ran my fingers through my hair, attempting to calm the locks down as my brain lurched and leapt, trying to figure out the correct course of action.

“You look like hell. She’s already seen you anyway. So, go after her and tell her you want the job.” Faye leaned back in her chair and peered out the window. “She’s getting into her Mercedes. Better hurry.”

I couldn’t let her get to Pendleton or anyone else on that list. I ripped the door open and hurried down the steps. She watched me approach through her car window, her head cocked in amusement, as if already certain this was exactly how it would play out.

When she’d walked into my office with her superior attitude, I couldn’t wait to send her running back to her firm complaining about me. Stone & Porter never condescended to contact me unless I had one of their clients over a barrel.

She seemed different from the usual big firm dipshits, though. Her light blue eyes shone with intelligence even though she’d worn a polished poker face. Despite her modest clothes and makeup, her youth and femininity were evident in her face, her bearing. She would have been a target for me if it wasn’t immediately clear that she thought I was a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe. Her haughty tone had sealed it, and I’d resolved to continue on my roll of dickish behavior for her benefit. In fact, I’d doubled down, pretending I thought she was a secretary. Now I realized I’d fucked myself out of the biggest case of my career.

I strode up to her window. She didn’t roll it down. I didn’t realize how stupid that simple act—or failure to act—could make someone feel. The corners of her plump lips hinted at a smile, and I wondered what she’d look like when she followed through.

“Ms. Carmichael?” I stuffed my hands in my pockets and tilted my head down, looking up at her through my lashes. It was the contrite look I used often with women who wanted to scratch my eyes out. I had at least a fifty-fifty chance. Surely.