Jack with a Twist (7 page)

“What are
you
doing here?” he asks right back, talking into the phone. “You didn’t tell me you were coming to court today.”

“You’re supposed to turn the phone off when you pass through security,” I remind him, taking my own phone away from my ear.

“I taught
you
that trick, sweetie,” he says, shutting his phone and grabbing me for a little kiss. “Are you here on a case?”

“Super-secret client,” I stage whisper. “I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” I try to say this last bit all flirty and sweet, just like Calista Flockhart on
Ally McBeal.
I love that I’m still flirting with Jack even though we’re already engaged. I hope that I still feel that way when we’re old and gray. Well, okay, I’ll probably never be old and gray. I’ll be old with a totally kick-ass natural-looking dye job, but you know what I mean.

“Super-secret client?” he laughs, running a hand through his shaggy brown hair. “Me, too. What judge are you assigned to?”

But I don’t need to tell him what judge I’m assigned to because we both figure it out at the exact same time.

Miranda rounds the corner and calls out to Jack: “Oh,
there
you are! We’ve been waiting for you! I’ve been stalling all morning, just like you taught me to! Brooke, I don’t know what I would’ve done in that conference if your fella hadn’t coached me on it last night.” She walks over to us and stands between Jack and me. Then, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, she rests her hand on his shoulder and sighs audibly, sort of the way Scarlett O’Hara did to Rhett when he came to rescue her from a besieged Atlanta.

Jack looks at me and I look at him. Neither of us say a word. We don’t need to. Turns out that there
is
a Gilson, Hecht partner on the case, after all.

My fiancé.

“Y
our Honor, you can’t
possibly
let him litigate this case against me. I mean, how can he be objective for his client? It’s so obvious that he is completely, madly, desperately in love with me!”

What I fail to mention to the judge here—and the real reason why I’m so adamant to get Jack thrown off this case—is that Jack’s also a much more experienced lawyer than me, and during our five years together at Gilson, Hecht, he really did teach me everything I know. How on earth am I going to use all of the litigation tricks I know on the person who taught them to me in the first place?

“I can be objective for my client, Judge Martin,” Jack says. “I may be completely, madly—”

“And desperately,” I add.

“Yes, and desperately,” Jack says with a laugh, “in love with counsel, but we’re all professionals here, and I’m quite certain that we’d be able to keep work separate from our private life. In fact, we worked together for five years at Gilson, Hecht before Brooke left for SGR.”

“Ha!” I say, “but when I was at Gilson, Hecht, you were totally in love with me.”

“I seem to recall that
you
were totally in love with
me,
” Jack says, turning to face me.

“Oh, please!” I say, “Your Honor, look at the man! He can’t even keep his eyes off of me! Jackie, you’re going to have to find another partner to litigate this case.”

“Are you afraid of a little competition?” Jack whispers, eyes still glued to me.

“Your Honor, look!” I say, pointing at Jack, “He’s
flirting
with me right here in your chambers!”

“This is a unique situation we are in here,” Judge Martin says, rubbing his hand on his bald head.

Unique, indeed. Most couples, when they argue, don’t actually have a United States District Court judge refereeing it for them.

“Judge Martin, I’m ready to go forward with this case,” Jack says. “If Ms. Miller has a problem with it—”

“It’s my case, Jackie,” I say through gritted teeth, “back
off.
”

“Ms. Miller,” Judge Martin says, “if you’d like to make a motion, I’d be happy to entertain it right now.”

The judge wants me to make a motion? Right now? When I’m not even prepared for the conference, much less an oral argument? No way. No way in hell. And he wants me to argue it against Jack? Now that Jack’s here, Judge Martin’s totally going to favor him, and not me! I can just see Judge Martin at our rehearsal dinner:
Brooke certainly gave it the old college try, but she was just no match for our Jack. Beauty and brains, that’s our Jack.

I don’t think so.

“No, Your Honor,” I say. “I’m ready to go forward.”

“Fine, then,” the judge says. “Are you familiar with the term
Chinese Wall?
”

Miranda sits in her chair, furiously taking notes while Jack and I manage a little giggle. You see, when I was at Gilson, Hecht, Jack and I had a case where we had to construct a
Chinese Wall.
Now, a Chinese Wall is not a real wall—it’s a term of art used in law to describe a situation within a law firm where there may be a conflict between certain clients. It means that the attorneys working on conflicted cases must keep all privileged information private and cannot discuss the information amongst themselves.

Four years ago, Jack and I represented Healthy Foods, one of the firm’s biggest clients, while our corporate department represented Organic Life, their competition, in a totally unrelated transaction. The two clients weren’t against each other in their respective matters, but since they were competitors in the market, the judge ordered the firm to construct a Chinese Wall within Gilson, Hecht so that we didn’t share privileged information.

“Now, the judge has ordered us to construct a Chinese Wall within the firm so that we do not inadvertently share information about our clients,” the partner on the Healthy Foods case announced in a large associate meeting just after the firm was retained by Organic Life. “Remember, even the most seemingly innocuous information could turn out to be privileged. Does everyone understand? However, for our purposes here, since the term
Chinese Wall
is so unpolitically correct, we’re going to call it an Asian wall.”

“Was that a joke?” Jack whispered to Vanessa and me.

“I can’t believe we had to give up billable time for this meeting,” Vanessa said. I, myself, was always glad to have any excuse not to work.

“Actually,” a fifth-year associate piped up, “only people are Asian. Objects are Oriental. Like an Oriental rug.”

“Okay,” the partner said, “then I suppose we can call it an Oriental wall.” Danielle Lewis, the head of the corporate department furrowed her brow and whispered something to the head of litigation.

“That’s way more offensive than Chinese Wall,” someone in the crowd called out.

Vanessa raised her hand. “Maybe we should just call it a Swiss wall, since they’re neutral.”

“Let’s just call it the Great Wall,” the partner offered and the other partners all shook their heads in agreement. “We will construct the Great Wall within Gilson, Hecht and I trust that all of the associates assigned to these matters will keep the details of their respective cases confidential.”

Jack, Vanessa and I refused to use the term
Great Wall
and instead referred to it as “the wall formerly known as Chinese” for the duration of the litigation. For some reason, the entire time we were on the case, I always had a massive craving for eggrolls.

“Yes, Judge, we are familiar with the concept,” Jack says to Judge Martin.

“Ms. Miller?” the judge asks me.

“Yes, Your Honor,” I say, but to be honest, I’m already beginning to think of the wok that I registered for at Crate and Barrel, hoping that someone buys it for me for my bridal shower.

“Great. So, then, I’ll expect,” he says, jotting down notes as he speaks to us, “that you two will construct a Chinese Wall at home and have no discussions whatsoever about the case.”

“Yes,” Jack and I say in unison. I’d never actually heard of a judge directing two lawyers to construct a Chinese Wall in their home, but it was giving me some great decorating ideas for our apartment. A silk screen in the living room would look totally fab.

What? It’s not like I wasn’t taking the case seriously. It’s just that when you’re a big-time lawyer like me, you have to multitask and think about apartment design while you’re working! Geez.

“I’m sure that the two of you have much more interesting things to discuss at home anyway,” the judge says. “I’d also like to fast-track this case. I understand from Ms. Miller’s papers that both parties are very well-known celebrities and they’d like to try to avoid unwanted media attention, so that’s why I’ve sealed all court records on the matter. I think it’s best to get this matter resolved as quickly as we possibly can. Am I correct?”

“Yes, Your Honor,” Miranda and I say in unison, while, at the same time, Jack says, “Yes, Judge Martin.” Sort of like on
Cheers
when Norm comes in and everyone in the bar would say: “Norm!” but Diane would say: “Nor-man.” Although, “Your Honor” is actually more formal than calling a judge “Judge,” but you get the general point I’m trying to make.

“So, then in that case, the discovery process will begin this week and I’ll see all of you in three months for our next status conference.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” we all say as we record the next status conference in our BlackBerries. I try to keep my cool even though the judge has set an incredibly tight discovery calendar. In my old firm, it would have been no problem, what with Gilson, Hecht’s enormous staff, but in my new firm, where I’m handling the case on my own, this has the potential to become a real nightmare. Although I must admit, I probably won’t have any trouble getting extensions on my deadlines since I’m sleeping with opposing counsel.

What? The judge merely said we had to construct a Chinese Wall—he didn’t say that we had to stop sleeping with each other!

I pull my hair out of its bun as soon as the door to chambers shuts and I walk down the hallway toward the elevators with Jack and Miranda.

“This is no fair,” I say, as soon as we are halfway down the hall, safely out of earshot of Judge Martin and his chambers staff. “You never even ever wanted to be a lawyer!” My argument, though childish and whiny, is true. It’s a known fact that Jack only became a lawyer after his dream of becoming an actor fizzled. Thus, his predilection for courtroom theatrics.

“My word,” Miranda says, “this is going to be some case, isn’t it?”

I resist the urge to tell her to shut up and leave Jack and me alone. Jack asks Miranda to excuse us and this inexplicably causes her to put her hand on his forearm. There’s that hand again. I resist the urge to scream, “Get your man stealing hand off of my fiancé!”

Not like I’m jealous or anything. This must be a litigation technique she’s trying to employ to throw me off. Trying to make me so jealous that I don’t concentrate on my case at all and focus all my energy into the wrong things. Oh, please. Amateur hour. As if I’d fall for that for one second! She’s going to have to try a lot harder to faze a tough no-nonsense adversary like me.

And why would I ever get jealous? Jack and I have a strong relationship, and just because my last serious boyfriend cheated on me and left me for another woman, that doesn’t mean that Jack will do the same thing. Because Jack’s not him. And Jack is more than just another serious boyfriend. He’s my fiancé. Things are different with him. Better. More secure.

Right?
“Y’all have a lot to discuss,” Miranda says as the elevator doors open, “Jack, I’ll see you back at the office.” I can swear I see her press her documents tightly to her chest, which has the effect of pushing her breasts up to expose massive cleavage in her lace-trimmed camisole. My eyes dart to Jack’s to see if he’s noticed.

“Thanks, Miranda,” Jack says, his eyes still on me, “why don’t you get started on discovery and we can talk it over this afternoon?” I can’t help but wonder whether or not she takes off her fitted jacket when she’s back at the office and attends meetings in only her lace-trimmed camisole.

What a hussy.

The elevator doors close and Jack and I stand face to face.

“No fair?” Jack says, “Is that the sort of tough argument you’ll be presenting me with in court? Honestly, Brooke, I thought I taught you better than that.”

“This isn’t funny,” I say (okay, I’m actually whining it, but give me a break, I’m under a lot of stress here!). “This is the first case I’ve ever taken the lead on and I want to do well.”

“Well,” Jack says, leading me down the hallway to the other end, where no one is standing. “This is a high-profile client for the firm and I want to prove that I have what it takes to be a rainmaker. To pull in the big clients and keep them happy.”

“Okay, my argument was, like, totally more compelling,” I say as we stop at the end of the hall.

“Whatever happened to: ‘You’re going to get the case and be amazing. And I’ll be the loving, doting fiancée who is here to help you every step of the way.’ Remember saying that to me?”

“Well, yes,” I say, “but that was before the biggest case of
your
career coincided with the biggest case of
my
career, silly.”

“But I’m a partner,” Jack pleads, “so I need the big case more than you do at this stage.”

“Totally flawed argument,” I say, “clearly
I
need the big cases more so that I can
become
a partner.”

Jack runs his hand through his hair.

“Since when do you care about taking the lead on a case? When we were at Gilson, Hecht together, you never cared about being on the big cases. In fact, you always tried to get on the smaller cases and the cases most likely to settle quickly,” Jack says, putting his case files down on the windowsill. “Let’s face it, Brooke, you don’t even like working that much. Why on earth would you want to take the lead on a case?”

“Who likes working?” I say. I think, but don’t say:
Duh!
“But these Manolos don’t exactly buy themselves.”

“I’ll let you buy all the Manolos you want,” Jack says, putting his arms around me, “you can even buy baby Manolos when we have a daughter.”

“They don’t
make
baby Manolos,” I tell Jack with a pout, as he puts his finger under my chin and tilts my head up to face him.

“If you wanted baby Manolos,” Jack says, leaning into me so that our faces are only mere inches away from each other, “I’d get you baby Manolos. I’d get you anything you ever wanted, you know that, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I say. “Can you tell what I want right now?”

Jack smiles, his baby blues sparkling, and leans down to kiss me. Every time I kiss Jack, it feels like the first time. His soft lips touch mine and I just melt. I really do. It could be any time, any place, but when Jack kisses me, the rest of the world just floats away. I close my eyes and with Jack’s arms around me, I could be on some island in the Caribbean for all I know.

Or a federal courthouse in Manhattan, as the case may be. “Ahem,” I hear a voice say from behind me. I turn and see Judge Martin standing in the hallway, right behind us. Jack doesn’t release me from his grip, but my arms fall down as if to say:
Didn’t I tell you that this man is completely, desperately, madly in love with me?
Case closed. I think I’ve proven my point. “Counselors, are we going to have a problem here?”

And it was just as good a question as any to ask. Would it be a problem litigating my first major case against my fiancé while we’re planning our wedding together? Won’t thoughts of taffeta and floral arrangements distract me from being the tough, no-nonsense attorney who does not take “no” for an answer that I am?

But, I am woman, hear me roar! I can do anything I set my mind to. I’ve faced much tougher obstacles in my day. After all, I am a woman who has endured going to three of my ex-boyfriend’s weddings and I managed to totally humiliate myself at only
one
of them! And, I’ve only been sanctioned by the court on
one
of my major litigations. All in all, a pretty darn good track record. All I have to do now is plan the wedding of my dreams (well, the wedding of my mother’s dreams, anyway) and win the big case!