“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.
Thirty-one
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.
Taylor had a sneaking suspicion that, on this particular occasion, there was an additional factor drawing everyone in like months to a flame. For weeks, stories about her alleged fantastic social life had spread throughout the office (she suspected Linda and the cohorts had a hand in this), and she guessed, from the way everyone at the party looked eagerly at the door each time someone walked in, that they all were hoping a certain you-know-who might drop by.
Over and over again, Taylor repeated the story of the EEOC’s capitulation to her colleagues, which (as Frank had predicted) had led to a quick settlement of the case earlier that afternoon. Indeed, the events of the day had happened so fast that Taylor felt a little dizzy standing there at the party. Perhaps she just needed some fresh air.
As she slowly inched closer and closer to the French doors that led to an outdoor terrace, her recap of the day’s events got more and more succinct. Luckily, Derek stood by her side and picked up the slack when she fell quiet. As he entertained the crowd with stories of her trial antics, Taylor smiled along, relieved that no one seemed to notice how distracted she was.
About midway through the evening, she thought she might get a brief reprieve when she heard the pointed clinking of a glass. She looked across the room and saw Sam Blakely rising in toast.
“So I have just a few words I’d like to say in celebration of our firm’s victory today,” he began with a proud glance in Taylor’s direction. “A victory brought about in large part because of the skills and dedication of one associate, the unstoppable Taylor Donovan.” Sam paused as the crowd clapped and cheered. Then he turned to address her personally.
“Taylor, when you first arrived at the Los Angeles office, we had been told you were a rising star. And from what I’ve seen, I wholeheartedly agree with all the praises the Chicago office sang of you.”
She blushed modestly at the compliment.
“We here in the L.A. office have come to think of you as one of our own,” Sam continued, “and you will be greatly missed now that your work here is finished. And since you, of course, will greatly miss all of us”—Sam held for the expected laughter—“let me at least give you something I hope will ease your sadness.”
Everyone in the room watched as Sam strolled over to Taylor. She presumed he was about to hand her some sort of farewell gift.
But what he said next surprised her.
He stuck out his hand.
“I know it’s two years early, Taylor, and that’s a first for this firm, but let me be the first to offer you my congratulations. Because when you get back to Chicago, you’ll find they have a much bigger office waiting for you.” He winked slyly. “A
partner’s
office, that is.”
The whole room erupted in celebration.
Taylor stood there, stunned.
She felt people patting her on the back. In her daze, she numbly took Sam’s hand and shook it. One at a time, her coworkers came up to offer their congratulations. With each minute that passed, Taylor felt dizzier and dizzier, until she literally thought the walls were spinning. Desperate for some air, after a few moments she excused herself from the crowd and stepped out onto the terrace.
Once outside, she headed to the edge of the balcony. Trying to calm herself down, she took in the view of the hotel’s lush gardens. A warm evening breeze rustled the draped bougainvillea. Pristine white flowers surrounded the marble sculptures and fountains. It was all so . . . California. And so she took it all in, trying to savor every last detail.
Because her time there had come to an end.
Mid-trial settlements were not uncommon, so she should have prepared herself for the possibility that she would be leaving earlier than expected. But blindly, she had not.
There would be no more fancy Hollywood parties. No more dinners at trendy restaurants and drinks at hot L.A. clubs. No more apartment by the beach, sunny California days, or warm, sultry nights.
And there would be no more Jason.
This
was the reason Taylor had been walking around in a fog since the moment her case had settled.
Leaning against the balcony for support, she took a deep, steadying breath. She knew she should’ve been back in the party, enjoying every moment of her success. It was a phenomenal achievement, the firm making her partner two years early. It was everything she had worked for since graduating from law school. It was everything she wanted.
Wasn’t it?
Taylor heard soft footsteps behind her. She turned and saw Linda approaching and watched as her secretary pulled up next to her at the balcony.
“Quite an exciting night, huh?”
Taylor nodded. “You can say that again.”
Linda studied her for a moment, then stuck out her hand. “Congratulations, Taylor.”
She smiled. “Thanks, Linda, for everything. It’s been a pleasure working with you.”
“Somehow, I think things around the office are going to be a lot quieter once you’re gone,” Linda said teasingly.
Taylor laughed. “That’s probably true.”
Then the two women fell into a quiet silence as they looked out at the gardens. After a moment, Linda glanced over.
“What are you going to tell him?”
Taylor soberly shook her head. “I have no idea.”
Right then, Sam found them out on the balcony and dragged Taylor back into the party. Although Linda’s question weighed heavily on her mind, Taylor had no chance to give it any further thought as she moved from one group of attorneys to the next, chatting and mingling and doing the rounds as any good soon-to-be-partner would.
After the party, as she drove back to her apartment, her mind was bogged down with the multiple logistical issues that accompanied her return back to Chicago. Her apartment and office needed to be packed, travel arrangements needed to be made, she had to terminate her apartment sublease and car lease (and here the Chrysler people had just been nice enough to replace her wrecked PT Cruiser with another), she needed to call the utility companies and get a refund on the package of classes she had just purchased at the Santa Monica Yoga Center . . . the list was endless.
Needless to say, Taylor’s mind was traveling in a thousand different directions as she pulled her car into the driveway of her apartment building.
Which is probably why she didn’t notice a familiar black Aston Martin parked on the street out front until she got to her front door and saw Jason heading up the walkway toward her.
Thirty-two
TAYLOR STOOD FROZEN on her doorstep as Jason headed over to her. He wore jeans and a lightweight navy sweater that brought out the blue of his eyes from ten feet away. He looked casual and rumpled and uncharacteristically tousled about. Taylor thought he had never looked better.
He stopped when he got to the edge of her doorstep.
“I need to talk to you.”
“I thought you were in New York,” she said. She had watched his live interview on the
Today
show that morning before leaving for court. Not that she needed to admit that to him.
“I flew back this afternoon.” Jason gestured to her front door. “Can I come in?”
Taylor nodded. As Jason followed her into the apartment, she noticed that he seemed nervous. Frankly, so was she. The two of them had an awkward moment, fumbling around each other as they stepped through the archway to the living room at the same time.
Taylor stopped and gestured for Jason to go first. Then she politely offered him something to drink. He politely replied that a glass of water would be nice.
A person could’ve cut the tension in the air with a spoon.
Taylor headed into her kitchen, berating herself for acting like such a moron. Miraculously, she somehow managed to pour a glass of water without dropping or spilling anything. When she returned to the living room she found Jason standing in front of the fireplace, checking out the family photographs she had set out along the mantel.
“You look like your father,” he said as she handed over his glass of water.
“Really? People usually say I look like my mom.” Relaxing a bit, Taylor moved next to Jason to see which photo he was looking at.
“It’s the eyes.” He turned and studied her, as if searching for an answer to some unasked question.
“I’m glad you came here tonight,” Taylor found herself saying. She saw this put Jason at ease for the first time since he’d got there. “There’s something I need to talk to you about as well.”
“Okay . . .” he said hesitantly, presumably remembering an earlier conversation between them that had begun this very same way. “You go first this time.”
So Taylor took a deep breath. “I settled my case today. It’s over. Done.”
Jason was surprised by this. “Over? I thought you said you were only halfway through your trial.”
Taylor nodded. “And then there were supposed to be posttrial motions and then likely an appeal, too. But today the plaintiff made us an offer we couldn’t say no to. It’s a great result. In fact, it was such a great result that, well . . . the firm said they’re going to make me a partner.”
Jason’s face broke into an enormous smile. “Holy shit—you’re kidding!”
“But I have to go back to Chicago.”
That wiped the smile right off his face.
He said nothing at first. He carefully set his glass of water down on her coffee table, unnecessarily adjusting it on a coaster as if needing a minute. Then he straightened up with his arms folded across his chest.
“So what did you tell them?”
Taylor met his gaze.
“I told them yes.”
They both fell silent.
Jason began to pace in front of the coffee table. He looked shocked. And angry. He appeared to be struggling for the right words to say.
“But . . . what about everything you have here in Los Angeles?”
Taylor shook her head. “It’s up or out at my firm. If I don’t go back to Chicago, I don’t have a job.”
“That’s the decision they force you to make? Then screw your job.”
Now
that
fired Taylor up. “Oh well, I suppose that’s easy for you to say. Do you even remember the last time you saw anything less than seven figures on a paycheck?”
For her sarcasm, Jason rewarded Taylor with a glare. It made her feel quite defensive.
“I’ve worked really hard for this,” she told him. “Three years of law school followed by six years of killing myself at that firm. I worked nights, weekends, even holidays. All that, and your only advice is ‘screw your job’?”
Jason circled around her. A floodgate seemingly had been opened.
“Oh, you want my advice? Okay, let’s see . . . Gee—I don’t know, Taylor, maybe you could find a new job.
Here.
Have you ever considered that? Did you even stop to consider the possibility of not running back to Chicago? Did you think about the fact that you might be walking away from something really good here? Did you once consider the possibility of giving—”
He stopped suddenly. Catching Taylor’s gaze, he shifted uncomfortably and regrouped.
“—Did you ever consider the possibility of giving
L.A.
a chance?” he finished.
But Taylor wasn’t fooled; she knew exactly what Jason had been about to say. But she, too, found it easier to dance around the subject rather than to actually say out loud what they both were thinking.
“There are a lot of things I like about L.A.’” she said carefully. “Things I like very much. But it’s too risky. What if things didn’t work out, Jason?” Her voice cracked a little as she said this. She collected herself. “With L.A., I mean.”
But Jason had caught her hesitation. He crossed the room to her.
“Taylor, look at me,” he whispered huskily. “Look at me.” He waited until her eyes met his. “You have nothing to worry about. Los Angeles is a perfect match for you. You belong here. You know that.”
He paused. Then he looked deep into her eyes and laid it all on the line. “You belong with me.”
Finally, it was all out there between them. No more games.
And as Taylor’s eyes searched Jason’s, she knew he was right.
He was her match.
Right from the very beginning, even when she had told herself that she hated him, he’d made her laugh. From the very beginning, he had gotten her. He knew her, he understood her. In so many ways, they were the same. She may have fussed and fought, but secretly she loved every moment they spent together. He was smart and witty and sexy as hell, but underneath it all, he was generous and kind and—surprisingly—as vulnerable as anyone else. Most important, he challenged her. And he drove her absolutely fucking crazy.
And that’s what made him perfect.
But.
As she stared into Jason’s deep blue eyes, she finally faced her deepest, darkest truths.
She had gotten lucky with Daniel, she knew that. After the shock of his cheating had worn off, she had been able to move on. Of course there had been some sadness, and mostly a lot of embarrassment, but nothing that she hadn’t been able to isolate and control with her usual degree of calm and collected coolness.
But that would not be the case with Jason.
If she trusted Jason and she was
wrong
, and one day she walked in on
him
with another woman, she didn’t think she could handle it. And even if she didn’t catch him red-handed, even if there wasn’t any cheating at all, even if he just got bored with her one day—after all, wasn’t that inevitable, Hollywood relationships never worked out—the simple truth of the matter was—
She would never get over him.
With Jason, there would be no calm and collected coolness. No feelings that could be isolated and controlled. It would be all or nothing, and Taylor feared that if she lost him, she would never find her way back.
So with a heavy but firm heart, she looked up at Jason and gave him her answer.
“I can’t.”
He stared at her knowingly. “You’re afraid.”
“Yes.”
They were both surprised she admitted this. Jason reached out and took both of her hands. He laced his fingers through hers.
“Tell me what it will take, Taylor. I’ll do anything you ask.”
So raw and naked were his words, she had to look away. Deep down, there was a part of her who ached to hear him say exactly that. Which meant that the scared part of her needed to stop him from saying anything else. She had to find a way to remain strong.
Her eye caught something on her coffee table—something she had placed there several weeks ago, one Sunday afternoon when she’d been straightening her apartment. Perhaps to serve as a reminder.
People
magazine. “The Women of Jason Andrews!” article.
Taylor removed her hands from Jason’s and held the magazine between them. The parade of all his ex-lovers/dates/ whatevers.
“Did you tell all of these women the same thing?”
Confronted with his past, Jason shook his head. “No. Those women have nothing to do with us.”
“Not even the supermodel? The one you brought to London?” Taylor saw that he was surprised she knew about this. “Did you tell her—”
“I’ll save you the trouble, in case you have a whole cross-examination prepared,” he said. “Yes, I’ve done a lot of bad things. I don’t deny it. But that all changed once I met you. I haven’t thought of anyone else from the first moment I saw you in that courtroom.”
Taylor’s expression remained surprisingly impassive.
“What about Naomi Cross?”
Jason’s shoulders sagged a little at this. “Naomi was different,” he said lamely.
Taylor’s face stayed firm. It had to. “I see. Naomi’s different.”
Jason shook his head in frustration. “No—that came out wrong.” He took a step closer and peered down at her earnestly.
“What I’m trying to say is that
you’re
the one who’s different, Taylor.”
Ahhh . . . the magic words. The very words she had promised herself to never believe again.
But what about the look in Jason’s eyes? He seemed so forthright. So convincing.
Taylor hesitated.
She needed to stay firm. She looked down at her hands. At the magazine she held. “The Women of Jason Andrews!”
Seeing this, Jason yanked the magazine out of her hands. “Stop looking at this bullshit!” He threw the magazine against the wall and it crashed to the floor with a noisy flutter.
And then . . .
A tiny card slipped out from the magazine’s strewn pages.
Both Jason and Taylor saw it. He walked over and picked it up. Realizing what it was, Taylor looked away as Jason read the words on the card out loud.
“I’m sorry. And I love you. Daniel.”
Jason’s expression changed the moment he read the card. He turned back to her with a strange look.
“Now I see what the problem is. Tell me, Taylor, whose mistakes am I paying for?”
Taylor’s eyes narrowed. How dare he.
She picked the magazine off the floor and held it up. Her words were cold. “Your own.”
And with that, Jason’s eyes filled with hurt. But then, almost as quickly, they turned stony. Dead. His voice was flat and emotionless.
“If that’s how you feel, then I guess there’s nothing more we have to say to each other.”
And without so much as another look, he turned and walked out of her apartment.
When she heard the door slam, Taylor sat down on her couch. She fought hard against what happened next. She took a deep breath.
There’s no crying in baseball.
She blinked.
There’s no crying in baseball.
She wouldn’t do it. There’s no crying in baseball.
But it was a futile struggle. For the first time in her adult life, a tear ran down her face. And then another.
Taylor sat quietly on her couch, alone.
She did not brush the tears away.