Lawyer Up (18 page)

MITIGATING CIRCUMSTANCES

Exasperated, Pat paced the ladies' room. She'd watched Morgan's behavior in disbelief. Was the Playboy Judge really that stupid? The woman's antics were ridiculous enough, but seeing how Stockard had seemed to eye Morgan's chest had made her want to shout “mistrial.” She'd been flabbergasted when he had actually accepted counsel's new evidence. Then Morgan had thrown Pat a catty smile before cutting her off to strut ahead out of the courtroom. Pat circled the restroom like a caged animal, her frustration escalating as she wondered futilely what she could do about the situation.

Then she heard Morgan's seductive voice in the hallway. “Judge Stockard, do you have a moment?”

“I'm on my way out to grab some lunch.”

Good
, thought Pat. He didn't sound all that friendly
.
Pat edged closer to the door to hear through the cracks.

Morgan murmured, “I just wanted to say how pleased I am that you're the presiding judge on this case. I've wanted a chance to appear in your court for a long time.”

“Well…ah…that's good, but we really shouldn't communicate ex parte…”

That's right, you shouldn't
, thought Pat.

“Of course, Your Honor.” Pat could almost hear Morgan batting her eyes. “I meant only that I'm glad for the chance to benefit from your considerable judicial expertise.”

“Okay, well, thank you for the vote of confidence, but I really must be going, Ms. Morgan.”

“Sir, please call me…
Candi
.” She breathed it out like an invitation into her bedroom. “All my friends do.”

Morgan placed her hand on his arm. Pat couldn't see it of course, but somehow she just knew in her gut that the woman was touching him. That made Pat want to stomp her foot.

Then someone pushed on the restroom door and Pat jumped back, disconcerted. The stranger gave her an odd look, and Pat quickly turned to enter a stall, frustrated that she couldn't hear the rest of the conversation. What were they saying? Were they even now making plans to get together?

Pat was so wound up that she was practically trembling. She still couldn't believe that Stockard had been so easily swayed by a little display of tits and ass—actually, a big display, she conceded. Was that the only way to get ahead in his courtroom? Pat wondered as she glanced down at her modest, professional attire and less-than-ample bosom. Her conscience pointed out that admitting plaintiff's new evidence was actually the fair call, but she quickly tamped down the annoying thought.

No!
It was clear he'd been swayed by Morgan's sex appeal.

Although irate about the seeming favoritism, Pat was also bruised by the fact that Stockard seemed attracted to the other woman and not her. It wasn't that she wanted him, Pat told herself…repeatedly. It was just her feminine pride, but she already knew that handsome, powerful men like him didn't go for plain, skinny women like her.

I
know
that
I
can
win
this
case
based
on
its
merits
and
my
expertise
in
the
courtroom
if
only
he
would
listen
to
me!
However, she realized that the Playboy Judge wasn't going to hear her unless he also saw her.

The only way to get a fair trial was to make sure she was on equal footing with her competition in
all
aspects of her presentation—or at least to try to make it as equitable as possible. Pat glanced down at herself again. While she lacked large endowments, at the very least she could try to do
something
with her looks. She had to win this case in order to make partner—the charity was near and dear to a partner's wife—and if that's what it took, Pat would play the game too.

Her conscience tried one last time, telling her not to stoop to this level, but Pat ignored it. She hadn't worked this hard and accomplished so much to lose to a woman who acted like a floozy.

So, forty-five minutes later, after a quick trip to a drugstore, Pat was back in the restroom attempting a hurried makeover. She liberally applied her sultry new eye shadow and dark mascara before adding ruby-red lipstick. Pat made a pouty expression in the mirror and was pleased with how sexily full her lips looked.

She considered taking her hair down from its stern ponytail but knew that without time for a wash, the look would not be an improvement. Then she removed her staid business jacket and unbuttoned the top three buttons of her blouse. She grimaced when she looked in the mirror. She certainly looked less uptight but her small breasts couldn't compete with Morgan's size 38DDs.

Oh
well
, Pat thought, sighing as she walked toward the door. It was a start but the rest was up to her. She would need to be more friendly and flirty, or it wouldn't matter how she dressed. At the very least she would smile more, but if she could manage a little “come hither-ness” that would be even better.

Pat stopped, feeling a little sick inside. She looked back at herself in the mirror.

Was she really going to do this? Could she do this? Was it even morally right to attempt it?

“Yes!” she firmly announced to the empty bathroom. “This case is too important to me and to the people it will help. If this is the only way to get Stockard to give my client a fair hearing, then I'll do whatever it takes, and…I'll worry about how I feel about it later.”

She took a deep breath, and when she resumed walking, it was with a sultry little sway to her hips. Worried she was running late, she exited the bathroom quickly and ran right into, literally, her ex-boyfriend. He reached out an arm to steady her and did a double take, staring at her face and then down at her unbuttoned blouse.

“Pat? That's a new look.” Brad laughed at her. “But you'll have to do something with your hair if you plan to run for beauty queen.”

Jerk! Asshole!
she wanted to yell. Instead she muttered, “Whatever. Excuse me, I'm late for court.”

Brad kept talking, even as Pat stalked away. “You know, if you'd tried a little harder when we were together, acted and looked more womanly, things might have gone differently for us.”

Pat wished that she'd voiced her true thoughts. Although it went against her nature to be openly rude, she needed to stop letting guys walk all over her.

After taking a deep breath, she walked into the courtroom, refusing to meet anyone's eyes. Still smarting, she didn't want any more comments. Pat knew some of her coworkers thought she was foolish for dumping Brad. He was fairly good-looking and considered a catch, but they didn't know that he had never tried to please her in bed…and eventually nowhere else in their relationship. It had taken a long time, but she now understood what had gone wrong in the relationship that had seemed to start so well.

Pat sighed aloud as she settled into her chair, her mind on the distant past. They were both up-and-coming new associates in different practices at prestigious Beauregard and White. It had been her first real romance, and she had latched on tight, insisting way too soon that they move in together. The relationship lasted for nearly five years, dragging on long past any romance, but she could now see that it had been doomed from the start—her deep-seated need for control and low self-esteem the cause.

Pat had been so needy following her lonely, difficult childhood that she'd acted like a doormat, doing anything Brad asked. Perversely, she'd also tried to control all facets of their life together, a pattern left over from her chaotic childhood. After a while, he began to resent it. Brad also blamed her for their poor love life, calling her uptight and frigid—and she had believed him.

She had reacted by trying harder to make him happy. She assumed all the housework, taking care of everything and releasing him to focus 120 percent on his career—and he did. When Brad made full partner before her, the youngest at their large firm, Pat finally woke up. It had been cathartic and healing to kick him out five years ago, but Pat knew the real test would come in a future relationship.

Could she let go and give up control—just let a romance develop naturally? Unfortunately, her enduring reputation as a workaholic autocrat made it hard to find someone new in the limited circle of the New Orleans law field. Maybe it was time to look elsewhere, but she felt that only another lawyer could really understand the crazy hours she put in on her cases.

The courtroom was filled now, but Pat refused to acknowledge anyone, not even her subordinates, impatiently awaiting the arrival of Judge Stockard. Hearing the “All rise,” Pat shook her head as she tried to put the past behind her and focus on the present. She might be willing to give “playing it loose” in a relationship a try, but she sure wouldn't do that in her career.

Get
your
mind
on
the
game
, Pat ordered herself silently as she stood up.
You're going to win this
case!

CET HOMME EST BEAUCOUP AMOUREUX ~ THAT MAN IS A WOMANIZER

After lunch, Judge Stockard watched the two women in surprised amusement. Pat had done something to her looks—he wasn't quite sure what—but she looked softer, more feminine, and both women were flirting with him.

Stockard was a man who had always loved women—and especially loved to play with them. After his wife had publicly sacked him for someone with more money and more prestige, he carefully crafted a playboy reputation that helped him rebuild his image. Once the very public divorce was final, he had embarked on a new avocation, patterned after that class of “love 'em and leave 'em” movie stars who never dated the same person twice.

The string of gorgeous women Stockard had wined and dined had been great fun…for a while, and he prided himself on ensuring that they were all
well
taken care of both in the bedroom and out. However, that had been a long time ago, and he had slowed way down on the Casanova act. But Stockard still appreciated the sight of a beautiful woman. Having two of them vying for his attention was icing on the cake.

“Your Honor,” Pat said in a voice that sounded slightly different, lower and more sensual. “May it please the Court, we would like to enter into evidence the following documents and maps.”

After Stockard nodded, she rose and walked toward the bailiff but kept her friendly gaze upon him. Even though Pat was all smiles this afternoon, she seemed a little self-conscious about it.

Well
, he thought. Perhaps he was going to find out if there was a real woman underneath Pat-ocrat's gruff exterior. He leaned forward to observe her more closely.

Stockard knew what Pat was doing, a private little smile upon his lips as he watched her strut around.
You've no more real interest in me than Candi does.
It didn't matter to him at all, because he still thought it was charming. Pat-ocrat was trying to fight the war on Morgan's terms, but she didn't need to. Laroque was twice the lawyer Morgan was and then some. Regardless, he always appreciated a good show in his courtroom…or in his bedroom.

Pat's new softer side intrigued him. He wanted to see more, wanted to encourage her. After glancing down at the evidence handed to him by the bailiff, Stockard said, “Ms. Laroque, I must say that I'm impressed.” He smiled at her in a friendly way. “The new
presentation
is attractive and very much appreciated, I assure you.” He wasn't talking about the documents.

“Thank you, Your Honor.”

Stockard watched Pat-ocrat's reaction closely, pleased that she looked flustered and slightly flushed. Always the naughty boy, he decided to push her buttons, wanting to see what she would do in response to a little provocation. He purposely turned his attention to the younger attorney and smiled encouragingly.

“Ms. Morgan, I find I'm remiss as I failed to mention earlier how much I appreciated the appearance of
cloistered
topographies
in your evidentiary materials.” He drew out the two words as if there was a hidden meaning there.

His ploy hit its mark, and Stockard was pleased to hear the slightest gasp from Laroque, the sound a breathy inhalation through parted lips that he found surprisingly erotic. Stockard was beginning to think there was a passionate woman hiding underneath Pat's angry armor. He smiled. The case suddenly seemed much less of a bore.

NIGHT COURT

Pat entered the creaking elevator of the Civil District Courthouse, thankful it was working and she didn't have to walk down three flights of stairs. It was after six in the evening—paperwork filing had kept her there late—so the entire building had already cleared out, and she was alone. The elevator stopped on the third floor and Pat backed up to let on more passengers.

When the doors slid open, she stifled a gasp as her eyes met Judge Stockard's lush chocolaty-brown ones. He nodded to her and stepped inside. “Good evening, Ms. Laroque,” he said, hitting the button for the ground floor.

The elevator lurched downward.

“Good evening, Your Honor.” Pat fought the impulse to shuffle away from Stockard, a knee-jerk reaction to the even stronger urge to drift toward him.

What
is
it
about
this
man
that
affects
me
so?

She didn't like the yearning feeling and didn't want it controlling her.
Only
one
more
minute
and
the
doors
will
open
and
I
can
get
away.
She took a preparatory step toward the front. Then she stumbled when the entire elevator jerked to an abrupt stop. Catching herself with a hand on the door, she glanced at Stockard.

“That's odd,” he said. He reached out and pushed the button again.

Nothing.

I
have
to
get
out
of
here! Away from
him.

Pat reached out on her side and pressed the button. And again, harder this time. The third time she practically punched it.

“Ms. Laroque, I don't think they work any better if you hit them.” There was a hint of amusement in his voice. He pushed his side again, firmly but gently.

When the elevator remained steadfastly inert, Stockard pressed the alarm bell.

Nothing.

He backed away from the controls and placed his briefcase on the floor, then leaned against the back wall, looking like he was preparing for a lengthy wait. “I'm sure they'll get it fixed in no time. I understand these elevators hold hostages on a regular basis, but they always release them…eventually.”

“Was that a joke?” Her comment came across as abrupt and harsh.

“It was
supposed
to be. Don't worry. It'll just take some time for the engineers to get it running again, but since it's after hours they may have to call someone in.”

“Sure, of course. I'm not worried.” Pat turned to face him, gripping the handle of her briefcase until her fingernails dug into her palm. “Well, I guess I'm a little worried.”

“Are you claustrophobic?” he asked cautiously.

“No, just don't like tight places.”

“Was
that
a joke?” Stockard sounded casual, relaxed.

Pat laughed then and so did he. “Touché. I just meant that…”

What could she say? Not the truth. Not…
It's you who makes this elevator feel so
confining.

Instead she said, “I'm not really claustrophobic. Just…you know, anxious to get home at the end of a long week…and hungry for dinner and…” Now she sounded like she was babbling.
Argh!

“So you had a tough week? Mine wasn't too bad. After all, I've got two attractive ladies battling it out in my court. Can't get much better than that.”

Pat jerked her gaze to him.
He
called
me
“attractive
”
? I guess he likes my new look.
A small glow of pleasure lit her, but she fought it. “We really shouldn't be talking ex parte, Your Honor.”

“Pat…may I call you Pat?”

He'd stated it as a question, but it hadn't sounded like one. Nothing Stockard said ever sounded indecisive. She nodded automatically…compliantly, without even thinking.

“Pat, we're both highly respected professionals. I think we can trust ourselves to avoid any injudicious discourse.”

A brighter flare glowed within Pat. Stockard respected her
and
thought she was attractive! “Of course, Your Honor, but I'll be more comfortable if we don't talk work.”

“Fine by me, and please call me Emmit. Silly to remain so formal while we swelter alone inside an elevator.”

Pat wiped a bead of sweat off her brow. It was growing hot in the elevator, although for her, the true cause seemed to be the man standing near her.

Stockard shrugged out of his suit jacket and draped it over his briefcase. “I wonder if the AC's out again as well.” He unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled them up.

He looked even more handsome dressed casually. His chest stretched the shirt tight, and he radiated strength in the way he crossed his muscular arms. He smiled then, and that sucked her in. The pattering was back from the morning, louder this time, making her chest feel tight, but now it had ramped up into something almost alive within her. It felt like wings beating against a too-tight cage, trying to escape.
She
needed to escape.

Pat whirled toward the elevator doors and just barely stopped herself from pushing the button again. She covered by following his lead, placing her case on the floor and then removing her jacket. That was better, but she still felt hot all over. She rolled up her sleeves. And all the while, she could feel his eyes on her.

“Did you find my courtroom too warm today?” he asked.

“What?” Her eyes sought his to try to glean his meaning.

“This afternoon you were dressed more casually than I've ever seen you. Was it too hot?”

“Oh! Sorry. I meant no disrespect. I'll keep my suit jacket on in the future. I was just…” She couldn't very well tell him she was just trying to play him the way opposing counsel had.

Stockard pushed off from the wall and drew near. He was so close now that she could feel his heat. It seemed to circle around her as if he were actually wrapping his arms around her. Again Pat fought the urge to shuffle away from him.

“I wasn't criticizing,” he murmured quietly. “You looked nice.” He paused, seeming to want to say more, but he just said, “That's all. Nice.”

Pat felt breathless staring into his eyes. He moved almost imperceptibly closer, and her eyes fixed on his sexy mouth. She had to fight an entirely new urge. How easy it would be to lean in and kiss those firm lips, to finally feel them on hers. Pat tingled everywhere and she ached with long-denied desire.

Then, unexpectedly, they could hear people outside moving about. “We're working on it, but it's going to be a while,” someone shouted through the thick metal doors. “Is everyone all right?”

The moment broken, Pat let Stockard respond loudly in the affirmative while she took several quick, calming breaths.

Then he returned to his spot against the back wall. “Might as well make ourselves comfortable.” Stockard slid down until he was sitting on the floor. “Why don't you join me? You'll be more comfortable.”

Pat looked down at him where he rested with his back against the metal, but the floor looked dirty. She hesitated.

“Here, let me play the knight in shining armor.” Stockard grabbed his suit jacket and spread it out on the floor near him. “For my lady's comfort.” He winked.

Pat was floored. He'd put his expensive jacket on the floor and she was supposed to sit on it? No one had ever…
ever
done anything like that for her. Certainly not her former boyfriend, Brad. She couldn't imagine he'd even have thought of it, let alone risk ruining his pricey clothes for her.

Pat walked toward him. “That was kind of you. Thanks.” She couldn't miss the fact that his eyes were on her legs below her conservative skirt. She sat gingerly on the jacket, and the skirt rode up her thighs, although she tried to stretch it down with her hands. She extended her legs and crossed them at the knee. Feeling his eyes on her, she let her gaze flick over to where he sat. Stockard was looking at the exposed skin above her knee. Realizing that she was watching him, he quickly turned his gaze to the front.

“So, you are still with Beauregard and White,” he commented. It wasn't quite a question.

“Yes, ten years now. My first position after law school.”

“My first job was with B and W as well. Didn't last there too long… It wasn't for me.”

“Really. I had no idea.” Sitting on his jacket felt so intimate, like they were friends, and now they were having a pleasant conversation that wasn't about work. Pat had to stifle the warming glow that continued to flare within her.

“I only stayed long enough to pay off my huge law school debt. Then moved on to a junior prosecutorial position that suited me better.”

Pat wanted to ask if he was a scholarship case like her, but it seemed too personal. They talked for a while about the firm's founders and the path that brought him to circuit court judge.

Then he asked, “Tell me about yourself. Landing B and W must have made your parents proud.”

“Well, I…” Pat hesitated. Did she really want to share her pitiful life story with this near stranger? “I'm sure my mom would have been proud, but unfortunately she'd already passed away, and I never really knew my dad.”

Pat didn't elaborate that her mom had died of alcoholism-induced liver failure on the eve of the most important day of her life, her graduation day, nor that her father had run off and left them when she was just a small child.

“But my close friends made a huge racket cheering me at graduation. I think they were even asked to leave the auditorium,” she quipped, attempting to keep it light.

But the Playboy Judge surprised her by choosing sincerity. “I'm sorry to hear that, but I'm sure she would have been very proud. It must have been hard to be so young and on your own. I may have needed scholarships and loans to get an education, but at least I had my parents around to support me emotionally.”

“It was fine. No problem.” Pat didn't like sounding weak, had never liked it.

“I apologize. That must have sounded intrusive. I don't know your situation at all.”

Barely above a whisper, she responded, “I was a scholarship student too. All the way.”

“I'm even more impressed. I had no idea.”

She looked over at him and their eyes locked. Pat wondered what he was thinking. Was Stockard really impressed or just saying that? It looked like he was studying her, trying to figure her out, and Pat felt an absurd urge to tell him everything. How being raised alone by an alcoholic single parent had made her the way she was—always desperate to control everyone around her as she had tried to control her mother's drinking when she was a child. That, after struggling against her mom's alcoholism and the resulting poverty, Pat had needed to let go of old coping skills and learn an entirely new way of behaving.

It had taken years with the help of a kind therapist to face and overcome her demons. Learning to let go a little and give up complete control—letting junior associates make and learn from their own mistakes—had been one of the hardest lessons because Pat was still driven to win every case. Of course every lawyer seeks victory, she knew, but she'd been forced to grudgingly accept that sometimes it was “out of her control”—four words Pat hated but now acknowledged were occasionally true.

“You're quite different than I realized,” he blurted out. His face immediately expressed discomfort. “I mean…”

Offering a slight smile, Pat let him off the hook. “You're not what I expected either.”

They fell into a pleasant, companionable quiet. The atmosphere felt almost private, and Pat had to stifle the yearning that flourished within.
He's just being friendly while he's stuck in here with you. What else would the Playboy Judge do around a woman? Any woman.
Pat breathed deeply and tried to think of anything but the man sitting so close that she could with little effort reach out and run her hand along his thigh.

Damn! Why did I have to think of that?
The ache was back, stronger.

After a moment, Stockard looked at the time on his phone. “It's almost seven thirty.” He opened his briefcase and pulled out an energy bar. After ripping it open, he unwrapped it partway. Holding it out, he asked, “Are you hungry? It's not much, but would you like half?”

Pat thanked him and reached out to take her portion. Her hand accidentally brushed against his warm skin. The flaring electricity was instantaneous and apparently mutual because he jerked his hand back as quickly as she did hers. Stockard searched her eyes, as if asking if she felt it too. The silence was loud now and the atmosphere charged, electricity sparking like the skin on her hand.

Pat yearned. Deep within, she throbbed with hunger. And all for a man she didn't really know.

After a moment, he offered the snack again. Careful to avoid touching him, Pat took the bar and broke off her half.

“Thank you,” she murmured. Breaking the energy bar into little pieces, she ate quietly.

When Pat dared to look at him again, her breath stopped completely. He was staring at her mouth, watching her put the pieces between her lips. A curling delight unfurled inside her. Was it even possible that he felt the same yearning?

She knew the moment Stockard realized what he was doing. His eyes flashed to hers once and then away. The air within the enclosed space was now utterly stifling, and Pat knew it wasn't the actual temperature that made it feel that way. The tingling that had started with her hand and spread along her nerves to every part of her body was now an all-consuming burn. She was hyperaware of the man so close to her, the sensation almost physical, as if their bodies were actually touching.