The Right Time (8 page)

Sympathy tended to be stacked in favor of the plaintiffs, while his clients were often seen as greedy, self-indulgent corporations out to heap destruction on consumers and the world at large. The current case was no different, involving a manufacturer of a children’s line of electronic toys whose owner he’d wooed over drinks at the Chicago Yacht Club, but he was certain the judge would rule in his favor at the hearing.

Walking down the hall to his office, he nodded and greeted the other attorneys diligent enough to show up as early as he did.

Near the end of the hall, he peeked into his assistant’s office—one of the few members of the support staff who arrived early. She came early and left early, unless needed.

She looked up from searching a drawer in the large file cabinet in her office.

Lena was an older woman in her late forties or early fifties—he wasn’t sure which—with reddish-brown skin. She had worked for the firm for many years and knew all the politicking behind the scenes, guarded a secret better than a first-time mother did a premature newborn, and at times he was absolutely certain she was clairvoyant, with her ability to anticipate his needs and foretell of changes coming down from the managing partners.

“Good morning,” she said, adjusting her round-framed glasses, the colors of which changed from day to day, depending on which outfit she wore. Today the black frames matched her black pantsuit.

“Good morning. Anything for me today?”

By now he’d hoped to have received an invitation to the annual cocktail party at founding partner Brit Wong’s Atlanta home, an invitation that was the unofficial precursor to being voted in as a partner. Every day he checked his box, ever since he learned the invitations had been printed.

Lena pursed her lips and shook her head. “I’m sure it’ll come soon,” she said.

“No doubt about it, but I’m getting antsy,” he confessed, something he’d only admit to her.

As he turned to leave, she said, “I saw Keith Wong in the office today.”

“What’s he doing here?”

Keith Wong was Brit’s only son. An attorney himself, he was a legal administrator working out of the Atlanta office.

“Not sure. Probably reporting back to his father. Or…it might have something to do with you.”

There she was, being clairvoyant again.

“You know that for sure, or are you guessing?”

“I’m pretty sure.” She lifted a file out of the cabinet and shut the drawer. Lena walked over to her desk, dropped the file atop a stack of papers, and rested her fist on her hip. “It’s good for you, bad for the lead attorney on the Creplar case.”

Creplar, Inc. was an Atlanta-based software company being sued by ten of its top engineers, who alleged they were not adequately compensated for their designs. It was the Holy Grail of projects, representing thousands of billable hours thanks to mountains of paperwork, multiple depositions, and plaintiffs who not only refused to back down, they’d scoffed at earlier attempts to settle.

“I was told to call Wong’s office when you arrived,” Lena said in an ominous tone.

“Then go ahead and make that call. By the way, I’m meeting a potential client for coffee at two. Would you—”

“Make a reservation at the restaurant across the street? Already done.”

Ransom went into his office and hung his jacket on the coatrack near the door. He sat down in his chair and tapped his fingers on the oak desk. If there was a problem on the Creplar case, as Lena suggested, the lead attorney could be on their way out and Ransom might have an opportunity to shine.

He signed off on letters Lena had drafted, printed, and placed on his desk. The call from upstairs didn’t come until almost lunchtime, when he was five minutes into proofing a document prepared by one of the junior associates.

It was Mr. Wong’s secretary. “Ransom, Mr. Wong would like to see you in his office, please.”

Ransom stood right away and donned his suit jacket. On his way, he glanced into Lena’s office, and she smiled and gave him the thumbs-up sign before ducking her head back to the paperwork in front of her.

Ransom exited on the top floor of the building, where Wong’s secretary ushered him through with a smile. Since there weren’t that many offices on this floor, it was very quiet. She knocked once on the double doors, pushed them open for him, and closed them after he walked through.

Ransom could only remember being in this office one other time in the eight years he’d worked at the firm, so everything seemed brand new to him. Heavy mahogany furniture covered in shiny leather dominated the décor, and the bookshelves lining the walls contained framed certificates, as well as law books.

Brit Wong sat behind his huge desk and looked up from a file he was reading. He motioned with his hand. “Ransom, come in, come in.”

He was a slight man with a head full of grizzled hair and a black mustache and beard peppered with gray hairs. Years ago, he arrived in the United States from China and, because of a limited command of the English language, was forced to work menial jobs until he improved. Eventually he put himself through college and started the firm with Abraham and MacKenzie, both of whom he had outlived. Like many immigrants, he wanted a better life for himself and his family, and hoped to leave behind a legacy for his son, Keith, who happened to be seated across from his father in one of the maroon guest chairs, fiddling with his phone.

“Have a seat,” Brit said, motioning to the chair beside his son.

“How are you doing, Ransom?” Keith greeted him.

Half Chinese and half Caucasian, he’d inherited many of his father’s physical attributes, but was muscular and a bit taller. He’d passed the bar, but after practicing law for a few years, settled into the administrator position Brit handed to him.

“Doing well.” Ransom crossed his legs and waited.

Brit closed the file in his hand. “I know we’re all busy, so I won’t waste your time,” he said. After many years in the States, his accent had almost disappeared. He interlaced his fingers atop the desk. “Keith informed me of some not-so-good news on the Creplar case in Atlanta. I’m sure you’re familiar with it, so I won’t go into the details. It seems we’re going to need someone to manage the negotiations until we arrive at a resolution. Attorney Belch is…ill—very ill, and will need to take a leave of absence for some time. We need someone who can jump in right away, which means not only taking over the management of the case, but spending quite a bit of time in Atlanta to make sure everything goes well. It’s a huge undertaking, and I want you to make it your priority. We’ll get support in place for you here, to help with your other cases. Would that be a problem?”

If by “ill,” Brit meant Belch had fallen off the wagon, then they had a terrible problem indeed. Belch was one of the best damn lawyers in the entire firm. He’d been given a second chance and managed to stay sober for over three years, but apparently he’d just used up his second chance.

“Absolutely not a problem, sir. I’d be happy to take the lead.”

“Thought so. You have family in Atlanta, don’t you?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. My brother lives there with his wife and kids.”

There was someone else who lived there, too. A certain flight attendant he’d thought about off and on over the past few weeks. He toyed with the idea of looking her up. Just to say hi. See how things were going with her and her lousy boyfriend.

“Great. You’ll be able to spend some time with your family—but not too much, of course.”

Although he smiled, Ransom knew Brit meant what he said.

“You have nothing to worry about. I’ll make this my priority,” Ransom assured him.

“I know you will. That’s why I picked you when my son told me about the problem. Keith will brief you on the travel and housing details, and then I expect you to get completely up to speed so we can get this case closed out satisfactorily for our client.” Brit nodded to his son. “I’ll see you at dinner tonight.”

The two younger men stood, and as they were walking out, Brit said, “Oh, Ransom, my secretary tells me she hasn’t received your RSVP to the cocktail party yet. Are you planning to attend?”

His heart rate increased. “I haven’t received an invitation.”

Brit frowned. “That’s a gross oversight. Clear your calendar. You’re on the list. If you don’t get your invitation within the next few days, contact my secretary.”

“Yes, sir.”

They walked out.

“I guess I’ll be seeing you in Atlanta very soon,” Keith said, as they rode down in the elevator.

“Looks like it.”

“Do you have lunch plans? We can cover some of the details.”

Ransom studied the younger man—five years younger, to be exact. He often thought of Keith as a spoiled rich kid, one who bragged too much and thought too highly of himself, with a questionable moral compass, even for an attorney. But he also suspected Keith admired him. He wouldn’t be surprised if he had suggested to his father that Ransom replace Belch.

“I have a meeting at two, so we’ll have to make it short.”

“No problem. My girlfriend will be joining us, too, if you don’t mind. She’s visiting from Atlanta and I don’t want to blow her off.” He lowered his voice. “To be honest, I’m doing a bit of damage control. She gave me another chance, and for the past few weeks, I’ve been working my ass off trying to prove to her I’m a decent human being after I majorly screwed up.”

“This sounds serious.”

“It is. My player days are over.”

“Good for you.”

Ransom couldn’t care less about Keith’s relationship. He half listened, running through a list of tasks he had to complete in his head.

“Finally broke her down,” Keith said, puffing out his chest.

Hating himself for being curious, Ransom asked, “How’d you manage that?”

“Lots of gifts and plenty of groveling. Women love some well-placed groveling.” He laughed to himself.

“Glad it worked out for you.” He knew very little about Keith, but what he did know was that he was a player. Ransom didn’t even know Keith had a girlfriend, or had one that he needed to grovel to, so this was a bit of surprising news. Still, it was not his business. He already had plenty on his plate without wasting time at lunch when he had work to do.

“I’ll see you around one-ish?” Keith called as they walked away from each other.

Ransom agreed with a wave of his hand and kept moving down the hall. He gave Lena the thumbs-up as he went by and left the door of his office open before sitting down to work.

Lena came in, glancing over her shoulder before she closed the door. She crossed her arms over her chest. “What did Wong want?”

Ransom gave her the details of the short conversation in Brit’s office. She didn’t appear the least bit surprised about Belch’s fall from grace. “Good news. Brit confirmed I should get an invitation to the cocktail party.”

Lena’s eyes it up behind her glasses. “Yes!” She gave a reserved pump of her little fist. “That’s wonderful.”

Ransom leaned back in his chair, for the first time really accepting he’d received the invite. Oddly enough, the immediate rush he’d felt upstairs had dissipated rather quickly, and Lena appeared more excited than he was. Delayed reaction, no doubt. The invitation simply hadn’t sunk in yet.

“Are you taking a date?” Lena asked.

“Going solo. Easier that way.” Ransom wrote three names on a sticky note and handed it to Lena. “Pull these files. I need to get some work done before I have to waste an hour at lunch with Keith and his girlfriend.”

Lena took the piece of paper. “Be careful,” she said in a loud whisper.

Ransom frowned. “About what?”

She edged closer. “You know what. You’re trying to make partner, and Keith can make the process difficult for you if he wants to.”

“He won’t.”

“He might, and you don’t want anything standing in your way. Especially not an overly indulged man-boy looking for a friend or mentor or whatever it is he wants from you. You know what happens when people get on his bad side. He makes life miserable for them. Remember Melinda in the New York office?”

“Melinda left because she screwed up,” Ransom reminded her.

Lena raised an eyebrow in an expression that clearly said,
Oh really?
“That was the story circulated around the office, but she was on the partner track. Why would she make such heinous mistakes when in a couple of years, she could be a partner?”

Ransom had always wondered the same thing, but in this business, he’d seen all kinds of aberrations in human behavior. “Are you saying Keith had something to do with it?”

Lena leaned over the edge of the desk and spoke in a lower tone. “All I know is, one minute I heard he made advances to her and she turned him down, the next thing I heard, her expense reports contained fraudulent information and she was losing important files. Then she resigned.”

Ransom sighed. “So you’re saying I shouldn’t piss off Keith if he makes advances on me?”

Lena jabbed a fist to her hip. “I’m saying play nice.”

“I know how to play nice.”

“Hm.”

Lena walked out of the office, leaving Ransom alone, and he shook his head at her unnecessary warning.

Some time later, in the process of conducting preliminary research on a case, he heard the sound of Keith’s voice approaching the office. Ransom looked up from his paperwork, ready to address his colleague and his lady friend, when shock burst through his brain like an IED explosion.

“Ransom, this is Sophie Bradshaw. Sophie, this is Ransom Stewart, one of the best attorneys in our firm. He’ll be joining us for lunch.”

Ransom gripped the arms of the chair, assessing the startled but familiar features of the woman beside Keith. The heart-shaped face and golden skin had been emblazoned in his memory as permanently as a tattooed design. Her long, sable-colored hair hung in wavy tendrils to the tops of her plump, full breasts. Breasts that were just shy of a handful, which he’d squeezed with his hands, licked with his tongue, and nibbled on with his teeth.

He knew this woman. Every nook. Every cranny.

The very flavor of her skin.

Ransom didn’t move. He didn’t dare blink. Focused solely on her. He had no clue what to say. Their unexpected reunion must be some kind of joke. Or a trap. Or a test, certainly.