Balancing Act (The Santa Monica Trilogy Book 3) (2 page)

“But you don’t understand,” Phyllis Callahan said. “I need for you to drag this out. The longer, the better. Isn’t that what lawyers do?”

“No, Mrs. Callahan,” Angie repeated for the third time in twenty minutes. “That is
not
what we do. Certainly not what I plan to do here.”

“But you’ll get paid more—”

“Not if we end up losing,” Angie said. “If S&L wins this case, we get paid nothing. That’s how contingency works. The judge might even order
us
to pay the defendant’s legal fees.”

“Then you just have to make sure we don’t lose.”

Angie gritted her teeth. If she’d known from the start how difficult her client would be, she might have thought twice about taking the case.

But she’d been blinded by compassion. A woman whose husband was dying of lung cancer shouldn’t be facing eviction from her home of thirty-two years. Even with the twelve-month lead time mandated by Santa Monica, and the admittedly generous relocation package offered by S&L, there was no way the Callahans would be able to find a comparable apartment with such easy access to the doctors and hospital where Mr. Callahan was receiving treatment. Certainly not at current market rates. Santa Monica simply did not have enough affordable housing. Waiting lists for the precious few rent-controlled units that periodically came available were a mile long. As Mrs. Callahan pointed out, her husband didn’t have the luxury of time.

That was how Angie got hooked into agreeing to play David to S&L’s Goliath.

And if, in the process, she managed to score a victory for advocates of more affordable housing and environmental rights, more power to her.

What she hadn’t counted on was Phyllis Callahan’s refusal to compromise. Apparently, between taking her husband for chemo treatments and protesting at every city council public hearing where S&L appeared on the agenda, the woman still had time to watch too many TV law shows. It gave her a skewed perception of how the legal system really worked.

For one thing, in real life most civil cases never made it to trial. Instead, they got settled out of court. Preparing for the inevitable negotiation was key, and that required client buy-in.

Which was why Angie was here, in her office after hours, explaining the process to Mrs. Callahan yet again.

Fifteen minutes later, a knock on the door saved Angie from growling in frustration.

Cheryl, one of her law partners, popped her head in. “Sorry to interrupt. I emailed you those briefs you wanted. Everything’s pretty much tucked in, and I brought Naomi up-to-date on my cases. Do you need anything else before I leave?”

Angie shook her head. “Enjoy your babymoon.”

“Will do,” Cheryl grinned. “And thanks for covering.”

The door clicked shut. The sound reverberated inside Angie’s head.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and pressed a thumb into the hollow just above her right eye. A few more minutes, and the pain there would blossom into a full-blown migraine. She tried to remember if she had any Imitrex in her purse. 

“Is that her first baby?” Mrs. Callahan asked.

“Second.”

“I hope she knows how lucky she is. Children are such a blessing.” She fiddled with the strap on her weathered handbag. “Sean and I weren’t able to have any. I prayed for years, but I guess some things just aren’t meant to be.”

Angie glanced up at the quaver in Mrs. Callahan’s voice. She’d forgotten, in the frustration of the last hour or so, how frail her client really was. Barely five foot two, with watery gray eyes and a cloud of white hair that reminded Angie of a dandelion puff, at the moment she looked every one of her seventy-six years.

“I’m sorry.” Angie nudged a box of tissues toward her. She really hoped the woman wouldn’t cry. Unlike Angie’s sister-in-law Grace, who was a psychiatrist and knew all the right things to say no matter the situation, Angie felt awkward in the presence of uninhibited emotion. Legal arguments she could deal with. In a contest of wits, she could dish out comebacks with the best of them. But the prospect of tears had her searching for the nearest exit.

Mrs. Callahan blew her nose. “Do you have kids?”

“No.”

“A husband?”

“No.”

“Oh, dear. What are you waiting for?”

Angie took a deep breath and redirected the conversation back to legal strategies.

But later, after Mrs. Callahan had gone home, after the cleaning crew came and left, after the Imitrex had finally kicked in, Angie continued to sit in her office, pondering the question.

It wasn’t the first time someone had asked her that.

Her mother did it regularly enough, but Angie figured that was part of the job description. In any case, her father was good at diverting attention away from hot-button topics.

But as Angie’s siblings, colleagues, and friends paired up, settled down, and started popping out babies, she couldn’t help feeling a little left out.

Three years ago, when she’d left BigLaw to start a small boutique firm with two other friends, they had all been on the same footing. Ambitious, energetic, still idealistic enough to believe they could conquer the world—or at least some small part of it that dealt with matters of real estate law, estate planning, and intellectual property rights.

Now those same friends had spouses, kids, a life outside of work—while Angie was still alone, racking up billable hours.

Where was the balance she had someday envisioned having? Wasn’t that one of the reasons she’d left her old firm, so she could be her own boss, and have more control of both her time and the cases she chose to take on?

If so, the grand experiment was turning out to be a grand flop. Maybe not for her partners, but certainly for her. While Cheryl and Naomi were off celebrating wedding anniversaries and enjoying babymoons, Angie was stuck covering the office.

Sure, she was earning a reputation as a tough-talking, no-nonsense litigator. But that same reputation seemed to intimidate most men. In the echoing halls and dim back rooms of the downtown courthouse, she heard the whispers.
Ball-buster
.
Bitch
. All because she was female, and smart, and didn’t back down in a fight. Not to mention the fact that she probably earned more in a month than most men earned in a year.

What was she supposed to do—pretend to be less than she was, just to stroke some man’s ego?

No way. Not in this lifetime.

She didn’t cook, she balked at the idea of picking up someone else’s dirty socks, and she damn well refused to play a subservient role under any circumstances.

Still, it might be nice to have someone to come home to.

An image of Zach Stewart popped into her head. She blinked, willing away the memory of his hot body and too-handsome-for-words face.

Zach was absolutely
not
relationship material. Good for a one-night stand, maybe. But anything longer term? Forget it.

Though it was true he didn’t intimidate easily. He was simply too arrogant.

He was also too much of a player. Not to mention rude, annoying, and a piss-poor judge of character.

If she had any doubt about that last bit, all she had to do was remember the first time they had met, at Eva and Roger’s wedding. Angie had been eighteen, about to finish high school. Zach had just graduated college.

In retrospect, Angie acknowledged that back then she might not have been the world’s most scintillating conversationalist. And physically she’d been more an athlete than a prom queen. But Eva
had
seated them together at the reception. Zach could at least have tried to say something to her besides “Nice to meet you” and “Please pass the salt.”

Worst of all, he’d escaped at the earliest opportunity to hook up with one of the bridesmaids. The bottled blonde with acrylic nails, spray-on tan, fake double-D’s, and zero discretion.

Seriously, who did that? In the coat closet, of all places.

Over the thirteen years since, she’d heard plenty of similar stories from mutual acquaintances, leading her to believe that Zach’s deplorable taste in women hadn’t changed.

So even if Angie was interested—which she wasn’t—there was absolutely no way that she and Zach could end up together.

Angie sighed, and with a final visual sweep of her office to make sure that all sensitive files were locked up, she turned out the lights and headed home.

“Have the parties come to a settlement?”

Angie forced herself to stop fidgeting. She’d spent enough time in judges’ chambers—both growing up, and as a litigator—to know that she had no reason to feel nervous. Especially over something as mundane as a scheduling conference.

She opened her mouth to respond, but Zach beat her to it. “No, Your Honor.”

She glanced across the two feet of carpet that separated her chair from a matching one occupied by Zach. In contrast to the last time she’d seen him, this afternoon he appeared calm, even relaxed. He’d unbuttoned his suit jacket when they sat down, and she couldn’t help but notice the way his pale blue shirt brought out the color of his eyes. He raised a brow at her scrutiny and she flushed.

“All right then,” the judge said. “Let’s set some dates.”

She barely registered the drone of his voice as he assigned deadlines for each phase of discovery. Not that it mattered. Everything would be put in writing anyway, and subject to change, if needed, as they drew closer to trial.

When the judge rose, signaling an end to the meeting, Angie wasted little time scooping up her briefcase and heading for the door.

“Wait up,” Zach called.

She increased her pace, dodging around a slower-moving pack of jurors leaving a nearby courtroom. He caught up just as she reached the Grand Park exit.

“I wanted to apologize for the other day,” he said, holding the door for her. “I don’t usually fly off the handle like that.”

“Really?” She could remember plenty of times during their previous negotiations over Eva’s settlement when he’d gotten irate, and once he’d even stormed off in the middle of a particularly heated exchange, leaving his father to smooth the waters.

“Let me make it up to you,” he said. “I’ll buy you lunch.”

She ignored the little flutter in her belly, focusing instead on his presumptuousness. As if it hadn’t occurred to him that she might already have plans. Or—even more galling—that any woman would even consider turning him down.

She kept her eyes focused on the flagstone path that cut through the park. “Sorry. I’m meeting someone.”

“Oh.” He adjusted his stride to match hers. “What about dinner?”

Her heel caught on an uneven crack in the pavement and she stumbled. A firm grip closed around her elbow. Her pulse skittered and she pulled away. “Thanks. But no.”

“Not even an excuse? Just—no?”

She took a deep breath and stopped. Around them, a faint breeze stirred through the trees. “Look, Zach. I don’t play games, and I don’t appreciate people who do. So let’s drop the ‘nice’ act, and just tell me what you want. Okay?”

Zach studied her for a moment, as if she were some strange life form he’d never encountered before. “Being on opposite sides of a case doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”

She blinked. “I’m on hidden camera, aren’t I?”

“Come on, Angie, cut me a break. I’ve already apologized.”

“You must think I’m an idiot.” She resumed walking.

He followed her past the fountain and up a flight of stone steps that brought them back to street level. “Actually, you’re one of the smartest women I know. Why does it surprise you that I’d want to be friends?”

“Seriously? Since when have you ever been just friends with a woman?”

His grin said it all.

She shook her head and started across the street as soon as the light turned green. “Don’t you have somewhere you need to be?”

He ignored the not-so-subtle hint. “I’m friends with your sister Eva.”

“Your father is friends with Eva. You just tag along for the food.”
And the sex.
Eva’s bridesmaid wasn’t the only woman he’d picked up over the years at the various functions Eva had hosted. Not that Angie was keeping track.

He had the audacity to laugh. “Speaking of food, where are we headed?”

“
I’m
going to Kendall’s. I don’t know where you’re headed.”

“Kendall’s sounds good.”

“You’re not planning to horn in on my date, are you?”

“I didn’t know you were seeing someone.”

His casual remark stung. Especially in light of how empty her personal life was of late, and her own creeping dissatisfaction with the status quo.

But that was none of Zach’s business.

As they approached the restaurant’s bright red awning, she saw Quinn already there, sitting at one of the outdoor tables, perusing the menu. He glanced up and smiled. Behind her, she felt Zach stiffening.

“
He’s
your date?” he growled in her ear.

Angie blinked at the hostility in his tone. Before she had a chance to respond, the hostess intercepted them. “Table for two?”

“Actually, I’m over there,” Angie nodded toward Quinn, who had risen to greet her.

Zach caught her hand before she could move away. “Not too late to change your mind about lunch.”

“Give it a rest, Zach.” She pulled her tingling fingers from his grasp. “And try to stay on task, okay? I sent you interrogatories this morning. Deadline’s in thirty days.”

~

“So what was that all about?” Quinn asked once they had ordered.

She smoothed a napkin over her lap. “New case I’m working on. Zach Stewart is counsel for the defense. You know him?”

“We’ve met a few times. Networking mixers, CLE events, fundraisers. One of our junior partners plays racquetball with him. Remember Mike Napolitano?”

“He made partner? No way! He used to tell whichever woman was in the room to be a sweetheart and fetch him some coffee.” She narrowed her eyes. “He could never remember my name. Or the fact that I was a fellow lawyer and not his personal gopher.”

“Angie, I hate to break it to you, but that had nothing to do with coffee. He just liked looking at your ass—um, assets.”

“It’s a wonder he didn’t get slapped with a sexual harassment suit.”

Quinn shifted his gaze to the leafy border separating the restaurant’s outdoor seating from the street.

Angie bit her lip.
Damn
. She forgot sometimes that despite the comfortable rapport she and Quinn had developed, some issues were still conversational land-mines.

“I’m sorry.” She reached across the table for his hand. “I thought we were past this. The woman recanted her story and took another job. Everything turned out for the best.”

In retrospect, maybe. But at the time, it had been rough going. To have the man she was sleeping with accused of improper advances by another associate was bad enough. But the worst was what came after. A flurry of gossip, a series of closed-door meetings with the managing partners, and then an official memo regarding new company policy. Relationships between co-workers—formerly frowned upon—were now strictly prohibited. Quinn was forced to choose. When he hesitated, Angie made the choice for him.

Quinn sighed and turned his palm up to meet hers.  “It just seems like such a waste. You didn’t have to leave the firm.”

“Yes, I did. I wasn’t happy there. I was thinking of leaving anyway. What happened with the partners simply expedited the process.”

“We could have worked things out.”

“I don’t think so.” She withdrew her fingers to the safety of her lap. “Besides, I’m happy where I am now.”

“Are you?” He studied her closed expression. “Don’t you ever wonder what life would have been like if you’d stayed?”

“I can imagine,” she said. “I’d be miserable slaving away for the old boys’ firm on the off-chance that maybe, someday, if the stars aligned and one of the senior partners kicked the bucket, I might get rewarded with an equity partnership position.”

“I think you underestimate your abilities.”

“No, but I’m a realist. I wouldn’t want to spend my entire career knocking my head against a glass ceiling that you and I both know still exists.”

The waiter’s arrival forestalled Quinn’s response. After the food was served and their water glasses refilled, Quinn picked up the conversation again.

“What about us?”

“Oh, please,” Angie said, stabbing a piece of grilled chicken with her fork. “You would have gotten bored sleeping with the same woman night after night. Admit it. You love having the freedom to sample a little of this, a little of that, and you rarely go back for seconds.”

He stared at her. “Wow. You do have a low opinion of men.”

“Not all,” she said. “My dad’s a good guy. And my brother cleaned up pretty well too.”

“That’s it? No one else?”

A pair of dark blue eyes flashed across her mind. Nope, definitely not
him
.

At least Quinn had attempted a long-term relationship. They’d stayed together for several months after Angie left the firm. But the stress of hustling for clients and overseeing all the business aspects that she’d never had to worry about before took a toll. Broken dates, phone calls she kept forgetting to return, and arguments over priorities eventually led to a mutual decision to go their separate ways.

As far as Angie was concerned, she’d done Quinn a favor by cutting him loose. In the three years since, they’d managed to salvage their friendship. And these days, she looked forward to the rare occasions when they could coordinate schedules and get together.

“I guess your silence speaks for itself,” Quinn said, attacking his steak.

“Wait. I just thought of another good guy.” She paused and smiled. “My brother-in-law Max.”

Quinn shook his head. “I can’t tell if you mean to be insulting, Angie, but I hope you’re not holding out for a diplomat of the year award.”

“Why?” She filched a French fry from his plate and chewed with renewed appetite. “Did I forget someone?”