Julie James - Just the Sexiest Man Alive

Partner.

Retirement.

Crazy gibberish, ratty slippers.

Pathetic death (alone, of course), thinking of the one time she had almost kissed Jason Andrews.

R.I.P.

Determined to push aside Val’s warning and all accompanying morbid thoughts, Taylor turned back to the files on her desk. The next morning she would be cross-examining the most important witness in the EEOC’s case and she needed to be ready. This witness, the named plaintiff, had always troubled Taylor. She knew the witness planned to testify that she had suffered severe emotional distress because of the alleged harassment she’d been subjected to in her work environment. It was testimony that, if believed by the jury, would help bolster the EEOC’s demand for significant monetary and punitive damages.

Derek chuckled when he dropped by Taylor’s office later that day and found her reviewing the files from the psychologist who had treated the plaintiff for her stress.

“You’re reading those again? We’ve been through those files a million times. Trust me—there isn’t anything we missed.”

Taylor set the file down on her desk, rubbing her temples. “There has to be—there’s no way this woman would’ve become so distraught because of her work environment. Even if everything she says is true, it’s not enough to cause someone severe emotional distress.”

“But the psychologist ran diagnostic tests and found her to be clinically depressed. How do we get around that? Argue that she’s an eggshell plaintiff?”

Taylor sighed, reluctant to go down that route. An “eggshell plaintiff” defensive strategy meant arguing that the plaintiff was “fragile,” that is, more sensitive than the average person on the street. That a more “reasonable” person would not have been bothered by the same conduct the plaintiff claimed caused her depression. Such arguments generally did not go over well with juries—no one liked to see the big-money corporate defense attorney calling the poor distressed plaintiff, in essence, a weak-ass little wimp.

“No, I’ve been trying to come up with some other angle for her cross.” Taylor stopped rubbing her temples and peered over at Derek. “You subpoenaed all her medical files, right?”

Derek nodded. “This the only psychologist she was treated by.”

“How about her general practitioner—do we have any files from him?”

“Yep, and I already checked them. Nothing.”

“What about any other doctors she saw? Her ob-gyn?” Derek made a face. “You want to read her gynecologist’s files?”

“Not particularly,” Taylor said. But at least it would keep her busy, so that her mind wasn’t drifting off with thoughts of Jason.

The things he had said to her at the Black & Pink Ball.

How he looked in his tuxedo.

How it felt to be dancing that close to him.

All dangerous thoughts. She needed to stay focused—she had a job to do.

So Taylor asked Derek to bring her the file. And twenty minutes into her reading, she had absolutely no problem staying focused on work.

She picked up her phone.

“Derek. You are not going to believe what I’m reading right now.”

“IF YOU DON’T mind, Ms. Campbell, I’d like to shift gears and talk about your claim for emotional distress damages.”

Up on the witness stand, the named plaintiff, Emily Campbell, sat straight and upright in her chair. She nodded to Taylor, who stood in front of the jury, just a few feet away from the stand.

“So if I understand your earlier testimony correctly, Ms. Campbell,” Taylor said, “you are certain there was nothing else going on in your life during the time of your employment with the defendant that could have contributed to your stress. Is that correct?”

Ms. Campbell folded her hands demurely, looking chaste and proper in her cream sweater set and pearls. “That’s correct—the only stress I experienced was caused by the terrible work environment I had been subjected to. I couldn’t eat or sleep. I had to see a therapist several times a week just to get by.”

“And you’re positive that nothing else could have been causing the stress you experienced during that time frame?”

“I’m positive,” Ms. Campbell said definitively.

“And, according to you, the stress was so bad that you sought treatment from a psychologist—a Dr. Gary Moore—is that correct?” Taylor crossed over to the defense table. She picked up a file and brought it back with her to the podium.

“Yes—I went to see him because—”

“A simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ will suffice, Ms. Campbell.” Taylor smiled politely. She opened the file she had brought to the podium as she continued on with her questioning.

“Ms. Campbell, as part of your claim for emotional distress damages, you signed a waiver permitting us to look at your medical records, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“And that waiver allowed us to look at all your medical records?”

“Yes, although Dr. Moore is the only psychologist I saw for the emotional distress I suffered.”

“I understand that, Ms. Campbell, but for a moment I’d like to talk to you about treatment you received from a Dr. Michelle Phillips at 1089 First Street in Santa Monica. You do know Dr. Phillips, don’t you?”

There was a scurry of activity over at the plaintiff’s table as Frank began riffling through his files. Taylor heard him mumble under his breath to his cocounsel, presumably something along the lines of “Who the fuck is Dr. Phillips?”

Ms. Campbell looked at Taylor, confused. “But Dr. Phillips is my gynecologist—I really don’t see what she has to do with any of this.”

“Yes or no, Ms. Campbell.”

“Yes, I know Dr. Phillips,” the witness grumbled.

Carrying her file, Taylor stepped closer to the witness stand.

“Do you recall telling Dr. Phillips during your appointment on February second of last year that you needed to be tested for sexually transmitted diseases because—let me make sure I get this correct here . . .” Taylor read out loud from her file, “Because, quote, ‘your weasel-dick husband slept with a skanky whore stripper and the cheating bastard didn’t use a rubber’?”

Ms. Campbell shot up in her chair. “She actually wrote that down?”

The jury tittered with amused laughter and sat up interestedly. Finally—things were starting to look a little more like Law & Order around here.

“I take it that’s a yes?” Taylor asked.

“Yes,” Ms. Campbell’s voice cracked. She cleared her throat as Taylor asked her next question.

“And do you also remember telling your gynecologist that you were, quote, ‘under extreme emotional distress because of your unfaithful dirtbag husband and couldn’t eat or sleep’?”

Ms. Campbell sunk lower in her chair as if trying to hide. “Yes,” she whispered.

Taylor pointed to the file. “And then, according to Dr. Phillips’s records, did you also tell her, ‘Thank god I at least have my job to get away from that lousy son of a bitch, or I’d probably kill them both’?”

By now, Ms. Campbell had sunk so far down in her chair that there was little more than two eyeballs peeking out over the witness stand.

“I may have said that,” she said meekly.

Taylor smiled patiently. Of course she had.

“Well, then, going back to your earlier testimony, are you sure you want to tell this jury that the only thing causing stress in your life was your employment with the defendant? And not the”—she consulted her file one last time—“ ‘weaseldick unfaithful dirtbag’ you were married to?”

The two eyeballs blinked at Taylor from behind the witness stand.

“There may have been a few other things going on in my life at the time.”

Taylor snapped her file shut. “Okay—I’m glad we cleared that up.” She looked over at the judge. “I have no further questions, Your Honor.” She returned to the defense table and took her seat next to Derek.

“You love this stuff, don’t you?” Derek whispered teasingly. Taylor hid her smile, not wanting the jury to see. She did, she really did.

Seeing that it was a good time for a break, the judge decided to recess the trial until two. As soon as the judge and jurors had filed out of the courtroom, Frank headed over to Taylor’s table.

“Why don’t we grab lunch, Taylor?” he said casually. “I’d like to talk about how the case is going.”

Derek nudged her knowingly.

Taylor took in her opposing counsel impassively. “Okay. But only if you’re buying, Frank.” She watched as the man got all rigid and indignant.

“I’m only kidding, Frank. Sheesh.”

MIDWAY THROUGH THEIR bagel sandwiches, Frank laid it all on the line.

“This case is a sinking ship, Taylor. The EEOC wants out.”

They were sitting in a coffee shop across the street from the courthouse. The place was packed with lawyers, so Taylor and Frank had chosen a table in the back where they could talk privately.

“That’s quite an about-face from our last settlement negotiations,” Taylor said.

“When you told me to call you when someone saw a penis.”

“Did any ever turn up?”

Taylor stared innocently at Frank, who just sat there, glaring. Then—shockingly—he actually cracked a smile. He shook his head ruefully.

“Not a one.”

Taylor eased back in her chair. She was glad to see Frank finally acting like a human being and all, but business was still business.

“Can I ask what brought about this change of heart?”

“It’s these witnesses. I don’t know what happens, I go through their testimony, I prep them, but then they get on the stand and you crack them like . . .” Frank paused, gesturing, searching for the right word.

“Walnuts?”

“No.”

“Eggs?”

“No.”

“Little bitty pieces of glass?”

Frank looked at her, exasperated. “Are you always like this?”

“It’s part of my charm.”

Frank threw his hands up. “I mean—who reads the gynecologist’s files? Who has time for that? Don’t you have a personal life?”

Taylor nearly coughed up her coffee. She grabbed her napkin to cover. Ahh, Frank . . . if only you knew about little Taylor Donovan from Chicago. She danced at the ball with the Sexiest Man Alive and then spent the rest of her life hiding behind work in order to avoid him.

“The problem with settling now,” Taylor said, “is that my client has already invested a lot amount of money in defending this lawsuit. At this point, we might as well ride the trial out to the end. The way things are going, it’s a better investment for them to pay me to defend this case than to pay your clients to settle.”

“What if your client didn’t have to pay anything at all?” Frank asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

Taylor tilted her head, surprised by this. “What exactly are you proposing?”

“At this point, the EEOC just wants to save face,” Frank told her. “The publicity the agency will get if we lose this case will kill us.” He leaned across the table, outlining his terms. “Here’s the deal: no money, but your client has to agree to yearly training on harassment and discrimination. And the terms of our settlement have to be kept confidential—we’ll issue a joint press release saying only that the parties were able to amicably resolve their dispute.”

Shocked as Taylor was by this proposal, she managed to maintain her skeptical look. It was all part of the lawyer dance.

“I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. “My client really wants this trial victory as vindication. But I’ll let them know about your offer nonetheless.”

Frank sat back in his chair with a confident smile. He may have been a pissy little man at times, but he wasn’t stupid.

“You do that, Taylor. But we both know that this comes down to a simple business decision. When your firm’s fees alone would cost another six figures to finish this trial, your client will never walk away from a chance at a free settlement. That is their vindication.”

And as much as she hated to admit it, Taylor knew Frank was right.

WITH A LOUD pop, someone cracked open the first bottle of champagne. The party officially kicked into high gear.

Taylor stood in a circle of lawyers, all of whom were eager to offer her their congratulations. To celebrate her victory, the firm had reserved one of the private rooms at the Beverly Hills Four Seasons. The party was packed, as lawyers at her firm were generally enthusiastic about any event that provided them both an excuse to cut loose from work at six o’clock and unlimited free alcohol.