Tempt Me at Midnight (9 page)

And speaking of providing evidence…

“How often have you been promoted in the past year, Ms. Tanner?”

The woman raised a defiant chin. “Twice.”

“Twice? Congratulations.” Quentin sauntered over to the jury box and casually leaned on the banister. The twelve jurors met his lazy gaze with varying expressions of amusement and admiration. “Just out of curiosity, Ms. Tanner, how often had your predecessor been promoted in the seven years she worked for the company?”

“My predecessor?” she echoed blankly.

“Yes. The woman who occupied your position before you were hired. Would you happen to know how often she was promoted during
her
tenure with the company?”

Silence.

“You don’t know?” Quentin prompted.

“Twice,” came the low response.

“Twice,” he confirmed, deliberately looking each juror in the eye as he meandered down the length of the jury box. “So in the three years you’ve been with the company, Ms.

Tanner, you’ve already been promoted more times than your predecessor was in seven years. Doesn’t that strike you as a bit too…
convenient?
”

“Objection, Your Honor. Counsel is leading the witness. And when did
her
job become the issue here?”

Quentin heaved a bored sigh. “Goes to credibility, Your Honor. The main reason my client lost his job was that Ms. Tanner was trying to preserve her own. In other words, she did her employer’s bidding at Mr. Henry’s expense.”

Judge Greer nodded. “I’ll allow it.”

“Ms. Tanner?” Quentin prodded, strolling back over to the witness stand.

“I’m good at what I do,” she said evenly.

“Yes, you are,” Quentin smoothly agreed. “Your department has a
very
high rate of claim denials. You’ve saved the company quite a lot of money, haven’t you?”

“Objection! The company’s claim-denial practices are
not
on trial here! We’re here to determine whether or not Mr. Henry was wrongfully terminated based on his performance. If Mr. Reddick can’t remember that—”

“Sustained, Counselor. Let’s not lose focus, Mr. Reddick.”

Quentin bowed slightly. “My apologies.”

There were a few snickers from the jury box.

“So what
about
Mr. Henry?” Quentin asked, pointing across the room at his client. “

Was
he good at his job, Ms. Tanner?”

She smirked. “Not good enough, obviously.”

“Obviously?” Quentin raised his brows at her, then strolled to the plaintiff’s table and scooped up a thick folder. Returning to the witness stand, he passed the folder to Mary Tanner, who opened it as reluctantly as if she were opening a cage of vipers. “Do you recognize those documents?”

She nodded.

“Please explain to the court what you’re looking at.”

She swallowed visibly. “Letters of commendation. Performance-appraisal reports.”

“With glowing reviews of Mr. Henry’s past job performance. Correct?”

She hesitated. “Yes, that’s correct.”

“And some of those documents bear your signature. Is that also correct?”

“Yes.”

“So, you see,” Quentin said silkily, “it’s
not
so obvious that Mr. Henry wasn’t good at his job, is it, Ms. Tanner? In fact, isn’t it true that your complaints about his work only began when you learned that he’d been speaking out against the company’s coverage policies?”

“Objection, Your Honor! Counsel is badgering the witness.”

“Overruled. You may proceed, Mr. Reddick.”

Quentin smiled narrowly. “Oh, that’s all right. I’m good for now, Your Honor.”

His point had been made.

He stepped back and began his trademark prowling in front of the witness stand, knowing that every eye was on him, waiting for his next move. He was in control of the courtroom, and he liked that. It kept the opposition off balance.

“Ms. Tanner.” He stopped before her. “What is your personal opinion of whistle-blowers?”

She blanched.

“Objection! Counsel is trying to bait the witness into impeaching herself!”

“Well, hell,” Quentin drawled in his best Southern good ol’ boy impersonation, “I wouldn’t be very good at my job if I didn’t at least
try.
”

Laughter swept across the courtroom. Even the jurors smothered grins.

“Let’s move on, Mr. Reddick,” the judge dryly instructed.

Quentin grinned. “Moving on.”

It was time to go for the kill, and he knew the best way. It was a huge gamble. One that could very well backfire, blow up in his face.

But he’d go for it anyway.

He turned and sauntered back toward his table. His client and Byron Devers, the young associate who’d accompanied Quentin to court, were both staring at him with poker faces. Quentin had groomed them to expect the unexpected.

Lexi was also watching him, riveted. He flashed a quick, lazy smile at her, and she smiled back.

Standing at the table, Quentin made a show of thumbing through a folder, as if he were searching for something specific. “What if I told you, Ms. Tanner, that I’d recently come into possession of an email sent by you to a colleague in another department? In that email, you raved about Mr. Henry’s successful handling of a certain project, and you stated that you’d give him a promotion in a heartbeat if it were entirely up to you? What if I told you, Ms. Tanner, that this email was sent
three days
before my client was terminated?”

He was bluffing, of course. The “colleague” he’d referenced had been too afraid of retaliation to testify against her employer. So he didn’t have any actual email exchanges to furnish as evidence.

But it didn’t matter.

In the second before the lead defense attorney jumped to his feet to object to the introduction of new evidence, Mary Tanner burst out defensively, “You don’t understand how much pressure we’re under to—” She caught herself.

But it was too late.

A hushed silence fell over the courtroom.

Quentin brought his head up slowly, his brows arched inquiringly. “How much pressure you’re under to do
what,
Ms. Tanner?” he prompted softly.

She clamped her lips together and darted an apologetic glance toward the defense table.

Noise erupted in the courtroom as the gathered spectators and reporters reacted to her damning near-admission. Judge Greer banged his gavel, calling for order.

“Your Honor,” the lead defense attorney implored, “in light of this development, we’d like to request a short recess to, ah, regroup.”

“I figured you would, Counselor” was the judge’s droll response.

Quentin’s client was grinning from ear to ear. And Lexi was giving him a thumbs-up sign, her face glowing with pride.

Quentin smiled at her.

Watch out, Lexi. I’m coming for you next.

T
hat evening, Quentin invited Lexi and their friends out for dinner and drinks to celebrate how well the trial was going. A court case of this magnitude ordinarily took at least four weeks. In light of the day’s surprise development, everyone believed that a favorable verdict for Quentin’s whistle-blower client was a foregone conclusion.

Lexi and Quentin were the first to arrive at the upscale downtown restaurant. After the gushing hostess requested Quentin’s autograph, he and Lexi were escorted to a posh VIP lounge and served cocktails while they waited for the rest of their party to join them.

Although it had been hard to keep her distance from Quentin for the past six days, Lexi was glad she’d toughed it out. He’d needed to concentrate on the trial, and
she’d
needed time to recover from their last explosive encounter and shore up her defenses. Now, seated beside him on the plush sofa—not within kissing distance—she felt reasonably in control of herself and the situation. Of course, knowing that they wouldn’t be alone much longer certainly helped.

Reflecting on the drama that had unfolded that day in the courtroom, she smiled and shook her head. “No matter how many times I’ve seen you in action, Quentin, you never cease to amaze me.”

He chuckled softly, lounging on the sofa with one arm draped across the back of the seat cushion and a glass of whiskey cradled in the other hand, which bore his gold class ring from Morehouse. He still wore his impeccably tailored Gucci suit, but he’d removed his tie and loosened the top three buttons of his shirt, exposing the strong, masculine column of his throat. He looked utterly relaxed and content, a man at his leisure.

He also looked drop-dead sexy.

Shoving the unwelcome thought from her mind, Lexi continued, “Seriously. I’ve already told you a thousand times what a gifted, brilliant trial lawyer you are. You’re absolutely riveting. But I swear, Quentin, you say and do some of the most outrageous things sometimes. I mean, only
you
would stop to tie your shoes, then compliment the other guys’ shoes, before cross-examining a hostile witness.”

Quentin grinned, tapping a broad finger to his temple. “It’s psychological.”

“I know. Everything you do in that courtroom is calculated.” She’d seen him manipulate and seduce women with the same finesse. It was downright frightening.

“But all kidding aside,” he said soberly. “I really want to win this case. My client stood up for what he believed in, and it cost him his job and his good reputation. These health insurance companies are controlling people’s lives—deciding whether they live or die—based on how much profit they stand to gain. It makes me sick to my damn stomach.

If I can’t get these greedy bastards convicted for their corrupt policies, then taking a pound of their flesh is the next best thing.”

Lexi gazed at him, goose bumps peppering her skin. One of the things she’d always admired about Quentin was his fiery intensity. He was passionate about his beliefs, his innate sense of right and wrong. He’d gone into law to become an advocate for those who couldn’t advocate for themselves. Lexi used to tease him back in college, telling him that beneath his devil-may-care playboy persona beat the heart of a righteous crusader.

Smiling softly at him, she said, “Your client is very lucky to have you on his side.”

Quentin met her gaze. “And
I’m
lucky to have you on mine. Thanks for coming today, Lex. I really appreciated seeing you there.”

The tender gratitude on his face made her heart squeeze tightly. Averting her eyes, she took a sip of her apple martini and said gruffly, “Don’t get all sentimental on me, Red.

It’s not like I haven’t been coming to your trials for years.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “You’ve been there from the very beginning, and I want you to know how much that means to me.”

She drank more of her martini, swallowing hard.

“Remember my first court case?” Quentin reminisced with a soft chuckle. “I was fresh out of law school, and so damn nervous that I kept mispronouncing the judge’s name and repeating the same questions during cross-examination.”

Lexi smiled. “You were adorable.”

He grimaced. “I was a wreck.”

“That, too.” She laughed. “But you certainly weren’t too nervous to flirt with the court reporter.”

“Did I?” His mouth twitched. “I don’t remember.”

“I do. And I can only imagine what her transcript looked like by the time you were through with her. You might have gotten that poor woman fired, Quentin.”

“I hope not.”

“Me too.” Lexi grinned, then sighed. “Well, you’ve definitely come a long way as a litigator.”

He gazed at her. “A lot has changed over the years.”

She blushed, fully aware that he was referring to their relationship. Taking a sip of her drink, she murmured, “Not everything has to change.”

“Change can be good.” His voice deepened. “Very good.”

She’d somehow misjudged the reach of his long arm draped over the sofa. Before she realized it, his thumb was rubbing the nape of her neck with small, lazy circles that sent shivers down her spine. As her nipples tightened and bolts of sensation zigzagged to her groin, she wondered how such a simple caress could wreak pure havoc on her body. Why couldn’t all these pulsing nerves have remained dormant, forever immune to his touch?

She checked her watch, then cast a desperate glance at the empty doorway. “I can’t believe everyone’s running so late. It’s not like them, especially Reese. She’s Ms.

Punctuality.”

Quentin took a languid sip of his whiskey. “They’re not coming.”

She looked at him in surprise. “They’re not?”

“No.”

“How do you know?” She fumbled out her cell phone. “I don’t have any missed calls. Did one of them call or text you?”

“No.” He met her puzzled gaze. “They’re not coming, because I never invited them.”

“You didn’t inv—?” As comprehension dawned, she stared at him in disbelief.

“You set this whole thing up just so I’d have dinner with you?”

“Pretty much.”

She scowled. “I don’t believe you! Resorting to trickery to get your way? That’s
so
underhanded.”

Quentin gave her a knowing look. “If I’d asked you out to dinner—just the two of us—would you have accepted?”

She hesitated. “No.”

“I rest my case.”

They stared each other down.

“I have to use the bathroom,” she blurted, lunging to her feet.

As she strode quickly from the room, Quentin called out, “Lexi.”

She stopped and glanced back at him.

He was studying the twinkling contents of his glass. “Don’t run out on me.”

Hearing the veiled warning in his voice, she swallowed. “I won’t.”

But the thought crossed her mind as she lingered in the restroom—retouching her lipstick, combing her hair, doing everything possible to delay her return to him. Why
shouldn’t
she leave the restaurant? Quentin knew she was adamantly opposed to elevating their relationship, yet he’d tricked her into having dinner with him anyway. It would serve him right if she left him high and dry. And she could, since they’d arrived in separate cars.

So what was stopping her?

“Good manners,” Lexi muttered to her reflection. “Loyalty. A guilty conscience. A big appetite.”

She sighed.
None of the above.