Trouble (35 page)

And somehow he'd really thought—hoped—Dara would.

He should have known better.

There was a movement in the doorway. Jamal.

“Don't kill me, Pops,” he said when Mike saw him.

Mike frowned. “What is it?”

“What did you do to Dara?”

“Why do you assume
I
did anything to
her
?” Mike wondered, irritated by the suggestion. “Did she say something to you?”

“No. She was too busy trying not to cry to say anything.”

“I can't get into it,” he told Jamal.

Jamal, clearly exasperated, opened his mouth to argue, but the receptionist's voice came over the speakerphone on Mike's desk, interrupting them.

“Mike?”

“Yeah?”

“Randall Jackson is on line two.”

Great. All he needed right now to make his day even worse was to deal with the idiot lawyer for the trucking company responsible for Aidan Sullivan's accident. Now that the trial was days away, they'd started making noises about wanting to settle.

“Fine. I'll take it.” He glanced up at Jamal. “You can get back to work now, junior,” he said, relieved that he had an excuse to end their conversation about Dara.

Jamal squared his shoulders and sank into a chair. “I wasn't finished. I'll wait.”

“Wonderful.”
Mike snatched up the phone. “What's up, Randy? I don't have much time.”

“Mike, I told you my client wants you to send over a settlement demand. Where is it?”

“We want four million, same as before.”

Jackson let out an exasperated sigh. “You're not going to get four million.”

“Yeah, well, that's what we want.” Mike eyed the drafts of two motions he needed to edit and get back to his secretary within the hour. “So if there's nothing else—”

“Look, Mike,” Jackson said quickly. “My client's willing to go up to half a million.”

“Half a million? With these kinds of medicals? Are you kidding me?”

Long silence.

“I may be able to get my client to move a little, but I'm not going to negotiate against myself,” Randy said. “You need to name a figure—something less than four mil.”

Mike snorted. The whole world had gone insane. Dara thought he didn't care about her, and this clown actually thought Mike would settle this case for half a million dollars, never mind the fact that Sullivan, a thirty-something father of three, was confined to a wheelchair for the rest of what was sure to be his shortened life, unable to breathe unaided.

Well, Mike didn't have time for this shit. He had work to do, and if and when he ever got done with that, he had sulking to do.

“You want a lower figure? How about this: $3,999,999.00. I gotta go.” He hung up before Jackson tried to argue with him.

Jamal's jaw hit the floor. “What are you doing? You've been saying all along this case needs to settle. Why don't you negotiate with the man?”

“Because I don't have time for this, Jamal!” he shouted. “And I don't have time for this discussion.”

“Mike
—
”

Mike looked back down at his paperwork. After a few seconds it dawned on him that Jamal hadn't moved. He glanced up to see Jamal staring at him, openmouthed, as if he'd never seen him before and didn't like what he was seeing now.

“You need to get her back, man,” Jamal told him. “You can be pissed at me all you want to, but I'm your friend and I'm telling you. You can't deal without her. Get her back.”

The next morning, Mike was deep in conversation with another lawyer when Dara arrived at the office. Mike pointed the man to the conference room and turned his frigid eyes on her.

“Hi,” she said, trying to keep her voice and expression upbeat. “What's going on?”

Mike's mouth tightened. He looked, if possible, even worse than he'd looked yesterday. The circles under his eyes had deepened and, unbelievably, he had a five o'clock shadow when she'd never known him to be the least bit unkempt at the office. For one second, she thought maybe he'd slept there last night, but that was ridiculous. Why would he?

“That's the lawyer for the trucking company. He wants to settle.”

“Oh! Would you mind if I sat in?”

“Why bother asking?” he asked, his smile crooked and humorless. “We both know you don't give a damn about what I want.”

Dara let her reproachful silence do the talking for her, determined to remain civil no matter how he behaved. It worked. His hostile gaze wavered and fell. He walked toward the steps, speaking over his shoulder.

“Do what you want. You always do.”

Undaunted, Dara took her jacket off and hurried into the conference room, where she introduced herself to Randall Jackson. Mike reappeared a few moments later and sat at the head of the conference table, opening his folder. He stretched out his long legs, crossed them at the ankles, then folded his hands across his lap.

He turned his head to Jackson, looking like a haughty, bored king deigning to listen to a peasant. “So, what've you got?”

Jackson took a deep breath. “I can offer one million.”

Dara kept her eyes lowered, but her heart leapt at the figure. A million dollars was real money and it would make a big difference in the lives of the Sullivan family.

“I thought you were serious,” Mike said impatiently, shutting his folder. “Why did you even bother coming over here?”

Jackson shifted uncomfortably. “You need to work with me, Mike.”

Mike snorted. “You've read the files and the medical records. You were at all the depositions. My client is in his thirties and he'll never walk again. He can't use his hands. He's tethered to his chair. He'll never be able to work as a physical therapist again and he can't support his family. He can't touch his kids or make love to his wife.”

“Mike—”

“Your client was driving an eighteen-wheeler and had been driving in the middle of the night for eight hours without a stop. We all know he probably fell asleep at the wheel. This was his second accident on the job in six months. He was cited. The company knew about his poor driving record and put him back out on the road.”

“Mike—” Jackson's voice rose.

Mike shrugged. “If you think you can convince the judge your client isn't liable on that set of facts, you're a much better lawyer than I am.”

He slumped back in his chair, tapping his pen on the table and looking annoyed.

Jackson rose from his chair. “Let me give my client a call.”

He slunk out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Dara stared at Mike, awestruck. He was such a great lawyer. If only she could be as good as he was one day. If only she could make a difference in her clients' lives, the way he did.

“That was wonderful,” she told him. “I really think—”

His hand came up to silence her. “Don't bother.”

Wounded, Dara looked away. They sat in awkward silence for a few moments, until Jackson reappeared, sat back down and smiled at them.

“Let's sharpen our pencils and see what we can do.”

Under cover of having “forgotten” her contracts book, Dara hustled back to the office the second class was over, later that afternoon, anxious to hear whether Mike had settled the case.

When she stepped into the foyer, she saw Jamal and the rest of the staff standing in a circle, talking in hushed, worried tones and looking like someone had died.

“What's going on?” Dara asked warily.

Jamal regarded her with a tragic look. “Mike settled the case.”

“That's wonderful! So why are you all so grim?”

“We're going to kill Mike soon if he doesn't stop biting our heads off every time we look at him,” Laura said darkly.

“Oh.” Dara nervously rubbed the back of her neck, wondering who besides Jamal knew she was the cause of Mike's black mood. “Where is he?”

Jamal scowled and jerked his thumb in the direction of Mike's office. “Up there. And if you're not back in five minutes, don't think any of us are gonna come and rescue you. You're on your own.”

“Great,” Dara muttered, heading up.

Mike was pouring himself a snifter of something honey-colored from his antique drink cart when she poked her head in his office.

“Dara.” He slammed the crystal decanter back on the cart. “You're just in time.”

“You settled the case,” she said brightly despite her concern. She'd never known Mike to drink much at all, and certainly never at work.

“Celebratory drink?”

“No.”

He strode back to his desk, put his drink down and picked up a check, which he flapped in her direction. “See this? It's the settlement check they just delivered.”

Wary, Dara took the check. He looked so dangerous she was half afraid to come within striking distance, although there was no alcohol on his breath, which was a good sign. She held his glittering gaze over the top of the check, then glanced at it and gasped.

Mike's one-quarter portion of the settlement for his contingency fee was 1.1 million dollars and some change.

Here, in her hand, was the answer to all his financial woes. After taxes, he could pay cash for the roof and pay off the mortgage on the brownstone! He could build up reserves for times when work was slow, although, after this, she didn't think work would ever be slow.

“Mike! Oh, my God! This is wonderful! I'm so proud of you! You must be so thrilled!”

He stared at her.

For one second she thought she saw some warmth, some soft emotion deep in his eyes underneath the anger and sarcasm, but then his mouth twisted down.

“Why wouldn't I be thrilled?” He took the check back and flicked it onto his desk as if it were a worthless receipt. Toasting her, he drained his snifter in a single gulp, making her wince. “I have my health and my house and my career,” he continued, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I'll be thirty-five next week and I'm financially independent. Hell, I could take off for Tahiti tomorrow and live there for a year. I have everything I always thought I wanted.”

There was no warning other than the velvety menace of his voice before he slammed the snifter down on the desk, breaking the stem with a sharp snap and spilling liquor on his blotter.

Crying out, afraid he'd cut himself, she reached for him.

“I can't think of a single reason why this shouldn't be the happiest day in my life, Dara,” he roared, jerking his hand out of her reach. “Can you?”

“Please don't do this, Mike.”

He stopped. Turned back around and watched her with those flat eyes. “You're right. You're not worth it. Here.”

He swept aside some papers on his desk, located a sealed envelope and handed it to her.

“What's this?”

“It's my evaluation on your internship. For Professor Stallworth. Read it if you want to.”