Page 82 of A Dead End Wedding

She laughed. "Let me guess, that translates into 'will you go get us some food,' right?"

"You know me too well. How about a big salad? Grilled chicken, if you can find one?"

"Back in a flash," she said, and hung up.

I heard footsteps and looked up to see Mr. Ellison shuffling his feet in my doorway. "Yes? Are you going to lunch? Done for the day, maybe?"

A girl could hope.

"Yeah, no, uh, I'm leaving soon. About that employee manual and the no-dating-clients rule. Does that apply to everybody or just me? 'Cause that sounds like discrimination against senior citizens to me, if you just made it up about me," he said, jamming his hands in his pockets and puffing out his scrawny chest. He looked like a sparrow on steroids.

If sparrows ever wore sandals with black kneesocks and baggy shorts.

I clenched my teeth to try to hold in the laugh, then slowly released a breath. Calm restored, I answered him. "Yes, it applies to everyone. Clients need to feel completely comfortable here, not worried that we're going to maybe take advantage of them. Does that make sense?"

His balding head turned bright red, and I wondered if we should put a defibrillator machine on the office supply shopping list. "Look here. I would never think of taking advantage of an elegant lady like that. Sounds like this rodent son-in-law of hersis the one trying to take advantage. He better never run afoul of me, or I'll show him what for."

"How did you – were you eavesdropping on my client conference? Mr. Ellison, you really shouldn't?—"

"I can't help it if you talk really loud, and I just happened to be standing in the exact part of the file room where the insulation is bad, and I could hear everything you said through the wall," he said, not quite meeting my gaze.

I stared at his red, pink, and green shirt, wondering for the third time that day where he'd found a store that carried plaid shirts with giant embroidered flamingos on them. "Look, I appreciate your concern for Mrs. Zivkovich. I really do. But?—"

He interrupted me. Again. "What do you call fifty lawyers at the bottom of the ocean?"

"And definitely no lawyer jokes! Page ONE of the employee manual!" I shouted.

He snickered. "A good start. Catch ya later, girlie."

As he sauntered off down the hall, I dropped my head in my hands. Ihaveto fire that man.

Tomorrow. I'm definitely firing him tomorrow.

My phone rang again. Outside line. "December Vaughn."

An unpleasantly familiar voice rang through the line. "Addison Langley here. I don't like dealing with amateurs, and I've had enough of you already."

Okay, socertainlawyers at the bottom of the oceanwouldbe a good start.

10

"Now what? And, really, you don't need to keep impressing me with your charm and southern hospitality, Addie." I pulled my legal pad toward me. I had a feeling I was going to need a very clear memory of this particular phone call.

"Look, Miss Vaughn, these cases are moving along at a quick pace. Does your client really have time for you to piss around learning how to be a player in the big leagues? Sarah Greenberg is already up to speed. Wouldn't you be doing Mr. Deaver a favor by referring the case to her?" If a man's voice can sneer, his was doing it.

Creep.

"Hey, Addie, how about you let me worry about who does favors for my client? Speaking of moving things along at a fast pace, how about that past-due discovery that Mr. Deaver's previous lawyer served on you? Where are those responses, Mr. Speedy?"

He made some choking sound, but I barreled forward. "Right. I thought so. And you with two past-due letters already. Please consider this to be your single verbal follow up. If I don'tget those responses within forty-eight hours, I'm moving to compel. I'll be sure and jot that down on paper for you, too. Are there two Ds in Addison?"

He slammed the phone down with enough force that I flinched, and he probably cracked the plastic on his handset. Or maybe at Langley Cowan they only had platinum-plated phones. As I replaced the receiver in the phone cradle, it rang again.

"He's probably calling back to apologize," I muttered, then picked up the phone again.

"May I help you?" I asked in my most sickeningly sweet voice.

"December?" Max asked. "Is that you? What happened to your voice? You sound sick."

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