Page 83 of Passionate Defense

“Mm-hmm, what’s that?”

“You. I hope I have a plug in the car.”

“Yeah, honey, sounds good.”

He shook his head. She’d set him up perfectly for his crude joke and still hadn’t noticed.

“Is everything okay, Lanie?”

“I’m just thinking,” she said vaguely.

Yep. Something was up. “Do you want to call for reservations, or should I?”

“I... Uh... What?”

“I’ll take care of it, but it’s probably too late to get our favorite booth and waiter. I’ll meet you at the house. I’d like to change and pick out another sexy outfit for you—preferably without undies.”

“Meet at the house. Sure, honey. Whatever you want.”

“Enough, Lanie. You are so preoccupied I could ask you to go down on the president at a state dinner right now and you’d agree. What’s going on?”

“What? A state dinner? When?”

He sighed. “Are you going to tell me what’s got you so distracted?”

He’d arrived at his car and ripped some political flyer off his windshield. Fumbling with the trash, his briefcase, and his keys, he somehow got his car door open without losing the phone he had gripped between his ear and shoulder. As he folded his long body inside, he waited for her to spill.

“I’m sorry, honey. My mind has been going a mile a minute all day. You’ll never guess who came into the office today.”

“True, so you’ll have to tell me.” Traffic was heavy at this time of day, so he put the call on speaker to minimize distractions and started the engine.

“First, I have to put you on retainer. Remember the fifty I gave you for that fundraiser? Keep it. You’re on retainer.”

When a car pulled out in front of him, he hit the brakes and the well-sprung vehicle glided to a halt. The vehicle behind him didn’t appreciate the abrupt stop and honked. He made the turn onto Commonwealth, toward the Turnpike, which would take him out of the city toward their suburban home.

When no further explanation was forthcoming, he pushed for an answer. “What’s this all about, Lanie?”

“Attorney-client privilege, of course.”

“I’m familiar with the concept. What is the case? Why do you need me on retainer, and who came by your office? I have a feeling all the questions have the same answer.”

“Trudy Blakely.”

The name seemed only vaguely familiar. “Who?”

“She was the practice manager at Wolfe, Williams, and Simons. You met her at least four times while I was there. She hosted and arranged every Christmas party, remember?”

“Sorry. I don’t.”

“It doesn’t matter. What does is they fired her after sixteen years.”

“That’s too bad, but why is that a big deal? With at-will employment laws, it happens every day unfortunately. Unless there was discrimination, a breach of contract, or some other public policy violation, employers often come away as bulletproof in these cases.”

“This goes beyond any discrimination lawsuit. They accused her of misappropriating close to a million dollars.”

He whistled. “Did she?”

“No! She’s the most scrupulous woman I know.” Her voice had risen as she spoke, and he could hear it quivering with anger. “They’re framing her, Ethan. I feel it in my gut. If anyone had their hands in the till, I guarantee it was Walt Simons.”

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