Page 9 of Dial L for Lawyer
"I'll take it." He leans back in his chair. "But we need to establish ground rules."
Here it comes. The punishment for ghosting him.
"First, you do exactly what I say, when I say it. No going rogue, no trying to investigate on your own, no contact with anyone from Luminous unless I'm present."
"OK."
"Second, full transparency. I need to know everything. Every interaction with Radiance, every person who had access to your passwords, every enemy you might have made at Luminous."
"I don't have enemies."
His lips twitch slightly. "Everyone has enemies in corporate America."
"Fine. Yes. I can do that."
"Third," he pauses, and something shifts in his expression, “Whatever happened between us before. It won’t affect the effort I put into this case."
I’m not sure if I’m upset or relieved by that, so I just nod. "Of course."
"Good." He stands, examining the paperwork again. "We'll need to prepare. Can you come back tomorrow morning? Say nine?"
"Yes. Of course.
He walks around the desk, and suddenly he's closer. Too close. He stops, his head tilting slightly.
"Why do you smell like snickerdoodles?"
Heat floods my face. "I was stress baking last night."
"Snickerdoodles?"
"Three batches." I admit. "Plus chocolate chip and some lemon bars."
Something in his expression softens for just a moment. "You still do that? Bake when you're anxious?"
He remembers. From our conversations at the gala, from the late-night texts we exchanged. He remembers.
"Yeah," I whisper. "I do."
He clears his throat, stepping back. "Bring any documentation you have with you tomorrow. Everything you have that can prove your movements."
"I will."
"And Serena? Wear something softer for the meeting. That suit says 'hostile takeover,' not 'wrongfully accused employee.'"
I look down at my power suit. "This is my best suit."
"Save it for when we go on the offensive." His eyes travel over me in a way that's not quite professional. "On Friday, you’ll need to look sympathetic. Vulnerable."
My stomach clenches. Vulnerable. Like I was at sixteen, standing on Mom's bathroom scale while she frowned at the number."Designers don't make clothes for girls your size,"she'd remind me, scheduling another session with the personal trainer during Dad's business dinners so no one would have to see me."We need you down at least twenty pounds. You want to be able to stand next to your father without embarrassing him, don't you?"By the time I finally hit her target weight, I'd learned that vulnerability meant giving people ammunition to hurt you.
"I don't do vulnerable well."
"I remember." His voice is softer than I expect. "But the panel needs to see you as human, not perfect."
Perfect. If only he knew how many years of controlled eating and compulsive exercise it took to even approximate Mom's definition of acceptable. How I still hear her voice every time I look in a mirror:"Almost there, sweetheart. Just a few more pounds and you'll be perfect."
I break eye contact and grab my purse. "What about your fee? Your retainer must be?—"
