Page 14 of An Irresistible Force (Vancouver Vice)

My mother tilted her head. “Lucky Luczak? Wasn’t that the hockey player you had a crush on in high school?”

I groaned. “Mummy, that was a decade ago. No, more than a decade.”

Uncle Thomas snorted. “They probably know all about that. That’s why they sent him—to prey on a vulnerable woman.”

Given his current problems, that remark sat in the middle of the room like a huge, stinking elephant turd. Finally, I spoke up. “That’s ridiculous. I’m a grown woman now, not a love struck teenager. And don’t worry about me being partial to him. Chris Luczak is a enormous jerk in person.”

Greg laughed. “He seems like a great guy. You’re just p.o.’d because he thought you were a secretary. That’s no big deal.”

“It’s no big deal to you because it never happens to men. Women have to prove themselves constantly, without old-fashioned and sexist guys like Luczak adding to the problem.”

The most disappointing part was that Chris was nothing like I’d imagined him to be. I had based all my fantasies on the way he’d played hockey—hardworking, determined, honest. Turned out that hockey didn’t reflect your personality.

Uncle Thomas smiled at me. “That’s the spirit. Sorry I got upset before. You kids are doing a great job covering all the work in my absence.”

“Um, how long will that absence be? I want to get back to Toronto.”

He shook his head. “I don’t understand what the hold-up is. This idiot that Grant MacMillan recommended is so slow. Adam is insisting on doing all these investigations before we go into mediation.”

My mother sniffed in disapproval. “I don’t understand why Grant himself isn’t taking your case. He always worked with Vince on everything.”

I shook my head. “I explained this to you before. Grant MacMillan practices corporate law. He’s the kind of lawyer you use when you’re doing a major business transaction.”

“But thisisa business issue. The ridiculous claims of that woman took place at work.”

“Sexual harassment is an employment and human rights issue,” I explained. “So you need a lawyer who has an expertise in that, which Adam Vandenberg has.”

“How do you know all this?” my mother asked.

“I met with him last week.” Uncle Thomas gave me a startled look. Did he not remember I had asked for permission to talk to him? “Part of a good defence is showing that your company is working proactively to establish policies to defend employee rights—which is exactly what I’m planning.”

Uncle Thomas snorted. “I headed up Rich-Witty’s HR department for over twenty-five years, and we never had a sexual harassment policy.”

“Then you were extremely lucky not to have had any issues. Maybe having a larger corporate structure allowed people to complain to higher management when they had problems.”

He still looked unhappy. “Doing something like this is practically an admission of guilt. Do you not believe in me?”

“Of course I do. I wouldn’t have taken this job otherwise. But Adam agreed that being proactive is a good way to show that the Vice take employee rights seriously.”

“It’s not an employee rights issue. Nobody respects rights more than me. It’s a shakedown. They find out that you’re a Richardson and get dollar signs in their eyes. We all know how that is.”

Since my dating life was littered with guys who had ulterior motives, I did understand. “Back to the mediation, do you have a date yet?”

He shook his head. “Adam was talking early March.”

My eyes widened. “What?” That was two months from now. When I agreed to help out with the Vice, my mother had assured me that everything would be cleared up in no time.

“Mummy, you said one month max. They can’t hold my job in Toronto open forever.”

She sniffed. “They weren’t even paying you. Your father always said that you can tell how much a company values you by how much they pay you.”

“It’s an unpaid internship. That’s how things work in the new economy. You gain experience and move onto a better job.”

“And how do people pay their rent in the new economy?” my mother asked.

I scowled, but I had no response. Without a trust fund, I could not have been working at my advertising agency job. Whatever the question, money always seemed to be the answer.

“Dinner is served,” Bonita called out. We all rose and headed towards the dining room.

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