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

Zach debated for most of the afternoon before picking up the phone.

He nearly hung up twice. The first time, when he realized it was the receptionist who answered the line. The second time, while waiting for his call to be transferred.

Angie finally picked up, voice a bit breathless. “Hello. Angela MacDowell.”

He felt a stirring below the waist, along with an irrational spurt of jealousy at the thought of what—or
who
—might have caused Angie to sound out of breath.

That made his tone harsher than he intended. “Are you aware that Fitzpatrick has a reputation?”

She didn’t miss a beat. “Of course. Quinn is the best securities fraud attorney this side of the Rockies. Did you need someone to represent you?”

“I meant with women.”

“Ah. Well, he does have that whole Cary Grant debonair thing going for him. And the chin cleft. Mustn’t forget the chin cleft.”

Zach clenched his teeth. If Angie wanted to make a joke of the rumors about Fitzpatrick seeing as much action as any male star in the industry—and that included both Hollywood and its seedier step-sister in the San Fernando Valley—that was her business.

“As long as you know what you’re getting into,” he said.

She ignored the warning. “Was there something else you wanted to discuss?”

He drew a momentary blank.

“Hello, Zach? Are you still there?”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Did you get the paperwork I sent?”

“Reading through it as we speak.”

“I’d like to get this wrapped up as soon as possible.”

“You signed off on the schedule this morning,” she said. “Same as I did.”

“I know. But I think it would benefit us both to work toward a quick settlement.”

“As long as my client gets what she’s asking for, I’m with you.”

“Give me something I can work with, Angie. Something that doesn’t delay construction indefinitely.”

“Bottom line?”

Finally they were getting somewhere. “I’m listening.”

“The city’s land use plan specifies that infill projects meet certain targets in terms of commercial versus residential use. I believe the ratio’s sixty percent commercial to forty percent residential.” She paused, and he could hear the rustling of paper on the other end. “Your project has only twenty-nine percent slated for residential use.”

“Come on, Angie, you know the LUCE plan covers aggregate development. The numbers you’re quoting apply to the sum total of construction going on in Santa Monica, not just our project. There’s got to be at least sixty, seventy projects in various phases of development around town. Some of them are mixed-use like ours, but a lot are entirely residential or purely commercial. I bet you none of those projects would meet your criteria if considered individually. If you look at the big picture, though, all the new construction and renovation, I’m sure it comes pretty damn close to your sixty/forty split.”

“You don’t know that for a fact. Besides, the S&L project will be one of the biggest in terms of square footage, so even if the status quo fits LUCE guidelines, your project is big enough to skew the overall numbers. You need to do the calculations more carefully as part of your Environmental Impact Review—using concrete figures, not approximations, of what construction is already going on or slated to begin in the near future.”

“I thought that was the city’s job. There’s a whole department in charge of planning and community development.”

Her husky laughter had him shifting in his seat. “Seriously, Zach, you want S&L to break ground before the ice caps melt and Santa Monica gets washed into the sea? Then you’d better not wait for the city to do its job. Take care of this particular task yourself.”

She was right, of course. Tectonic plates moved faster than some of the local bureaucracies.

Instead of dwelling on that depressing reality, Zach asked the one question that had been bothering him all along. “What’s your client’s interest in all this?”

“Well, obviously she cares about preserving the city’s unique identity and quality of life. She’s lived here thirty-two years, Zach. It’s important to her that the neighborhood remain green and walkable, with as little disruption to existing community services as possible.”

Oh, sure. Wasn’t that why everyone sued?

He managed a bland tone. “That’s important to us, too.”

“Good. Then you won’t mind revisiting the traffic issue. A project this big is bound to create problems with congestion and parking.”

“We addressed that in the EIR—”

“Actually, you didn’t. All those traffic reports and projections that the Department of Transportation commissioned? You wrote, and I quote:
the incremental increases in traffic generated by the proposed project would not significantly impact any of the study intersections, street segments, or transit services based on the significance criteria identified.
”

“And your point?”

“My point, counselor, is that labeling a problem as
insignificant
doesn’t make that problem go away. If you want to get buy-in from the residents, S&L needs to create a plan to mitigate the issues that the DOT raised.”

“So basically what you’re saying is that you expect S&L to solve all of Santa Monica’s traffic problems.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth. You don’t need to solve problems that already exist. You just need to avoid adding to them.”

“You’re splitting hairs, Angie. But let’s move on. Next issue…?”

“You’re getting rid of rent-controlled units.”

“We’re
replacing
them,” he corrected. “With brand new, code compliant affordable housing.”

“Not enough. Tier III projects—and yours definitely qualifies—are required to replace
more
affordable units than they remove from circulation. Thirty percent of new housing needs to be affordable to households earning thirty to one hundred fifty percent of the area’s median income. And five percent of housing has to be set aside for households earning below that.”

“We’re a for-profit company, Angie. You realize that, right? Construction in Santa Monica is never cheap, and S&L prides itself on doing top-of-the-line work. High quality materials, expert workmanship, no shortcuts.”

“I’m not disputing that.”

“Then you understand that at some point, we have to make money. Margins are slim as is. What you’re asking us to do will shave profits down to nothing.”

“Don’t exaggerate, Zach. You’ll still lease the commercial space to high end retailers, restaurants, offices. Rents in Santa Monica are sky-high. You’ll make your money back soon enough.”

He hoped she was right. But given his father’s precarious health, time was of the essence. This was the make or break project, and Zach couldn’t afford any missteps.

His voice hardened. “You can’t have it both ways, Angie. If we increase the relative proportion of residential to commercial space, like you suggested, then we can’t take an even bigger loss on the housing end.”

“Well, then, I guess we’re back to square one.”

“Angie, be reasonable.”

“I am, Zach. You’re the one who’s refusing to budge.”

“The city council approved our proposal as is. At least they understand that rehabbing the area will bring in more money and business, which in turn benefits everyone. Including your client.”

“Not if she’s forced to move because you’ve demolished her home.”

He tapped his pen on the notepad in front of him. “She can still stay in the area if she wants.”

“Are you really that dense?” Angie snapped. “Have you seen what rents are these days?”

“We’re offering a very generous relocation package.”

“It’s not enough.”

“Ah, now we’re finally talking.” He leaned back in his chair. “How much?”

“This isn’t just about the money.”

“What else is there?”

“Hello? Haven’t you been listening?”

“I have, Angie. Very carefully.” He paused. “Remember that joke about Churchill? The one where he propositions a woman for a million pounds and she agrees? And then he offers her five pounds instead. She slaps his face and says, ‘What do you think I am?’ To which he replies, ‘We’ve already established that, madam. Now we’re just haggling over price.’”

He smiled at her sharp intake of breath, wishing he could see her face. When she was angry, her gray eyes darkened to the color of the Charles River on a blustery day. He imagined running his thumb over the furrow that formed between her drawn brows, smoothing it out. And then tracing the graceful curve of her cheek down to the soft lips that parted in anticipation, just for him.

Her stiff voice jarred the fantasy. “I’ll have a request for production on your desk by morning.”

Okay, she wasn’t ready to haggle just yet. But hopefully she wouldn’t keep him waiting too long.

Angie spent much of the following week wading through the digital document dump Zach and his team sent to her office. Even with the assistance of two paralegals and an IT expert who implemented some data-mining algorithms to sort the wheat from the chaff, the review took a tremendous amount of time and effort.

In the process, Angie found that S&L had failed to turn over a number of the documents she had requested.

“Can you believe it?” she railed to her partner Naomi, after receiving yet another terse refusal from Zach for specific records. “He’s claiming attorney-client privilege.
Again
. For the company executives’ appointment schedules, on the grounds that any communication he has with anyone at S&L or on behalf of S&L is protected.”

“He
is
in-house counsel for the company,” Naomi pointed out.

“Yes, but officially he’s also listed as ‘Executive Vice President.’ Which means he’s likely providing business
and
legal advice.  And if that’s the case, any communication that isn’t specifically and primarily for the purpose of rendering legal advice would not be protected.”

Naomi watched her pace. “You can always file a motion to compel. And sit down, would you? You’re wearing out the carpet.”

Angie sank into a nearby chair. “He’s driving me nuts.”

“Why? There’s always some gamesmanship and saber-rattling during discovery. You should be used to it by now.”

True. But for some reason, this felt more personal.

Though Angie would never admit it out loud, she had always been hyperaware of Zach. When he entered a room, she knew he was there before she even saw him. And when he left—typically accompanied by some other woman—Angie inevitably felt deflated.

It’s not that she expected him to all of a sudden turn around and fall in love with her. Given his track record, she doubted he was even capable of love. But lust? Absolutely. And at least in the early days of their acquaintance, she would have gladly settled for that.

The problem was that Zach seemed blind to the fact that she was a woman. Or maybe she simply wasn’t the type of woman he was attracted to. She wasn’t blond, or particularly busty. And she sure as hell wasn’t dumb.

Given the circumstances, that was probably a good thing.

~

Ten days and another motion later, she received the last of the files she’d requested.

While scrolling through a batch of records dating back to the time of S&L’s acquisition of the property in question, Angie came across a small notation in Zach’s calendar.

7pm - Jeannine @ Spago.

A few lines down, the same name, different venue.

Over and over.
Jeannine
, then
Jean
, and then simply
J
—assuming the initial referred to the same woman.

Angie blinked and turned to gaze out the window of her high-rise office. She would never have guessed. Unless Zach habitually conducted business in the evening at some of L.A.’s swankiest restaurants, this repeat entry meant that Mr. do-’em-and-leave-’em was actually capable of having a long-term relationship.

She resumed scrolling. Around the six-month mark, the J’s petered out, giving way to a rapid montage of Alices and Barbies, Chloes and Danas, Eloises and Felicitys, all the way through the alphabet and back again.

Ah, that was the Zach she knew and—

Wait, what was this?

A different set of documents, and Jeannine resurfaced. This time with a last name followed by a series of credentials: Jeannine DeLuca, PhD, BCEE.
Board Certified Environmental Engineer.
And her signature graced the bottom of one of the key reports commissioned by the city as part of S&L’s environmental impact study.

Coincidence?

Angie frowned and clicked open a new browser.

She didn’t believe in coincidences.

A quick Google search yielded a photograph of a blond swimsuit model-type whose CV was even more impressive than her figure.

Angie spent a few more minutes trolling the Internet for information, then added Jeannine DeLuca to her deposition list.

Oh, this was going to be good.