Driven to Date Read online

  Hovered over my desk, I lifted my head as Sarah strode in and dropped a stack of mail in my in-box. “I’m still picturing the smiley-faced results of your artistic talent.”

  I snickered. “Glad to entertain you. Did you go for drinks with Bud after?”

  She nodded, then slipped into the chair in front of my desk. “He didn’t find the art class quite as amusing. He got kind of possessive, demanding I not go anymore.”

  I grimaced. “Seriously? That’s not good.”

  “I know.” Her eyes glazed over. “That’s why I broke it off with him. We had fun, but I don’t need to be controlled over lame, petty things.”

  My heart went out to her, but it was a smart move. “Need another girls’ night?”

  Her expression lifted. “Definitely.”

  Movement by the door caught my eye, and Ryan stepped in. “Do you have a few minutes?”

  Sarah stood. “We’ll plan the details later. Good morning, Ryan.”

  “Morning.” He eased around Sarah, pushed the door shut behind him, then came up to my desk. “I’m about to head to court, and I’ll be gone all day.”

  I glanced at my watch. 8:25 a.m. He must have a nine o’clock appearance. “Is that the Peterson case? Hope it goes well.”

  “Thanks.” He slipped his hands inside his pockets, looking like a GQ cover model in his suit and tie. “Have dinner with me tonight. I’ll make a seven o’clock reservation at The Melting Pot?”

  My favorite fondue restaurant. Sarah and her meddling. . . “Thanks for the invitation, but I can’t.”

  He turned his head slightly. “Tomorrow night?”

  I lifted the Somerset file off my desk, and opened it. “Let’s just keep it to business. Unless you have a case you have questions on, I have a lot of work to do.”

  His brows came together. “What’s going on, Jill?”

  “Nothing.” I gestured to my file. “But my boss has requested more trivial memos for the Somerset case, so I’m bogged down with that.”

  “Trivial?” His facial features darkened. “Do you honestly think I’d ask you to do something if it wasn’t necessary?”

  I leaned back in my chair, squeezing my highlighter. “No, I think recording memos of every time the opposing attorney said no to settlement can be very helpful in resolving a case. In a reversed world.”

  I hated my sarcastic tone, which was completely juvenile. But I’d do anything to avoid discussing what had happened between us. Plus, those tedious memos made me want to rip my hair out. Just saying.

  He crossed his arms, and held a look of disbelief. “Those memos are important.”

  I tapped my pen against the file. “In addition to documenting phone calls with the defense attorney, maybe you’d like me to create memos for each time Mrs. Somerset visited the restroom?”

  His eyes narrowed as he studied me. “Why won’t you go out with me?”

  Annoyed that I was impressed by his focus, I stood and started rearranging things on my desk, trying to calm my nerves. “I don’t have to explain myself.”

  He checked his watch, then strode where I was. “Just tell me.”

  My fists balled, because I so didn’t want to get my heart broken. “I’m not the girl for you.”

  He stepped closer, his hazel eyes peering into mine in a way that had my tummy bouncing. “You’re wrong about that.”

  Keeping my feelings in check, I sucked in a breath. “I’ve heard what you’re about, Ryan. I know this thing between us won’t last.”

  Holding my gaze, he brushed my cheek gently. “I think we’d last a lifetime.”

  My heart fluttered, wanting to believe him. What made me so special that he’d change his track record from bad boy to Mr. Dependable? “You do?”

  “Yes. But I have to go, or I’ll be late.” He ran his thumb along my jaw line. “Go out with me tonight. We can talk more.”

  Remembering my voicemail, I shook my head. “I’m serving dinner to the homeless tonight. There’s a program and they’re short on volunteers.”

  He nodded. “Then tell them they’ll have two volunteers. I’m taking you out after.”

  The corners of my mouth curved upward. “You’re very persistent.”

  “When it comes to you, buttercup, I always will be.” He brushed his lips against mine, then hurried out the door.

  ****

  We parked at the curb of a cul-de-sac where a long line of people had formed on the sidewalk. Sherri, the program director at H.H.P., shook my hand, and then Ryan’s. “I’m grateful for your help.” She smiled, and sounded sincere.

  Ryan slipped his hand in mine. “We’re glad to be here.”

  Sherri gestured toward an area in the front. “Bob can use you both at the burrito station. He’ll show you what to do.”

  We nodded, then headed over to Bob as the line of people started to move.

  Bob handed me a burrito, then gestured to several large boxes containing more. “We’ll give these out as the guests pass. Ryan, you stand after us and offer each person a napkin and bottled water once they’ve received their food. Sound good?”

  I nodded. Bob’s energy bounced off him, and it felt contagious.

  “Good evening.” Bob stood to my left and greeted an elderly man with gray whiskers. He handed out his first burrito.

  “Now it’s a good evening.” The man appeared grateful to accept the burrito from Bob’s outstretched hand.

  “Beautiful day. Isn’t it?” Bob greeted the next in line, a middle-aged woman.

  “Any day I wake up is beautiful.” Her voice was hoarse, and her hair looked in dire need of a shampoo. “Bless you, sir.”

  I wondered what this woman’s story was, and what more I could do to help her. Making a donation, and handing out burritos didn’t feel like enough.

  Bob pulled the last of the burritos out of his box, then tossed the empty box aside.

  “Good evening,” I said, then handed a burrito to a man who approached bringing along a Labrador-mix leashed using a tattered rope.

  “Thank you, ma’am.” He patted his dog on the head as he stopped in front of me, then he gave part of his burrito to his pet.

  Two teenage girls approached.

  Shocked, I leaned toward Bob, and whispered. “Kids?”

  “Probably runaways,” he replied in a hushed tone.

  My heart went out to the young kids that passed by. They were only children for crying out loud.

  “Good evening.” I handed a burrito to a brunette woman.

  “Can I have one more of those? It’s for my daughter.” She pointed to a young girl sitting on the curb, who couldn’t have been more than three years old.

  “Absolutely.” I handed the burrito for her daughter. I’d seen the news and knew that even young children were homeless, but it felt different witnessing the hungry children in person. It tugged at my soul, and I kept feeling like I needed to do more. “Here,” I said, giving the woman another burrito in case the child didn’t have breakfast tomorrow.

  Bob greeted the next person with the same lively spirit he had when we’d first arrived, then he leaned toward me. “I know you mean well, but we should make sure there’s enough food for everybody before we pass out seconds.”

  My eyes widened. “We might not have enough?”

  Bob lifted a shoulder as he gave out another burrito. “We do the best we can, but we don’t always have the resources or manpower to make enough food.”

  My stomach churned at the thought.

  “Good evening.” I greeted a woman, who appeared to be my age. But instead of a designer suit, the woman wore a ragged white dress that was so filthy it looked brown with an occasional white speck. I felt an unspoken bond with her, knowing this could’ve been me under different circumstances.

  The realization hit home, and it hit me hard. These people needed my help. More than a donation or serving dinner one night. I turned to find Ryan watching me, and we exchanged a look that made it seem like the same thing was roll
ing through his mind.

  That we had to do something that would make a bigger impact. But, what?

  Chapter Nine

  I arrived at the office early Thursday morning, last night weighing heavily on my mind. Feeding the homeless had stirred all kinds of emotions in me, which Ryan and I discussed over dinner. The plan just wasn’t clear to me yet.

  After reading numerous Internet articles, I clicked my mouse to print them out. My eyes skimmed an article on the various reasons people become homeless. Drugs. Abuse. Mental illness. Depression. In theory, once I knew the reason someone had become homeless then logically I could work toward a solution to make them independent again. In practice, I wasn’t sure how it would pan out. But I was determined to try.

  I needed to form a list to achieve that goal. Sigh.

  My eyes flicked to my wrist. Time to hit the road. Today was the crucial San Francisco settlement meeting in the Somerset case. I pushed my print outs next to my keyboard, then pulled the Somerset folder from the filing cabinet.

  A high whistle sounded in the doorway.

  I glanced over my shoulder to where Sarah stood nodding in approval.

  “Be still my heart, but someone went shopping.” Sarah stepped into my office, carrying a handful of mail, and eyed my new red heels with a look of approval. “Those look fantastic with your red blouse. New, too? They really spice up your black pants suit.”

  My stomach danced. There was nothing better than a fashion compliment from Sarah Carlton. Especially considering I wanted to look cool and confident for my meeting with the vexatious Frank Wilson. “Thanks, Sarah.”

  “There’s nothing urgent here.” She dropped the mail into my in-box. “I figure you probably won’t be able to get to it. Will you and Ryan be gone all day?”

  “Yes, according to the email I got this morning.” It ticked me off that Ryan felt the need to come to the defense attorney’s office with me today. Why was he so possessive of this case? I checked my watch. If he didn’t come soon, I’d leave without him. “It starts at ten-thirty, so we should actually head out.”

  “Think you’ll settle the case?”

  “I doubt it.” I sighed. “The defense attorney’s being stubborn on this one.”

  “Plaintiff’s husband died in a car accident. Defendant was convicted of a DUI. Seems pretty cut and dried to me.” Sarah put a hand on her hip. “They need to pay up.”

  “No argument here. If I were on defense, I’d have settled this long ago.” I held my arms out. “What kind of attorney would choose to argue against an eighty-year-old woman who’d lost her husband to a drunk driver after fifty-two years of marriage? You’d have to have a blatant disregard for the law to side with defense.”

  “Practicing your opening statement?” Ryan appeared in the doorway dressed in a black suit, with a blue tie.

  “Good morning, Ryan.” Sarah headed toward the door and then paused. “I forgot to ask, how was your trip last weekend?”

  Ryan’s eyes flicked away from me, and his brows came together. “Fine, thanks. You ready, Jill?”

  “Yes.” I kept my face blank, but it bothered me that I hadn’t known he’d gone out of town. How did Sarah find out and not me? But, then again, Sarah seemed to know everything around the office. Kind of like Val, but without the sinister motives.

  Sarah stood behind Ryan, then signaled me with a thumbs-up sign to go for it. “Have fun, you two.”

  Ryan’s interference on this case was just the opposite of fun.

  ****

  I leaned back into the leather seat of Ryan’s BMW as he started the car. The new-car smell, mixed with that enticing cologne scent, gave me flashbacks of Friday night. Dancing. Laughing. Kissing. Then I remembered we were driving to my settlement meeting.

  My jaw tightened as we drove across the I Street bridge, then merged onto 80 West toward San Francisco.I snuck a peek at his profile and noticed his skin looked tan. I cleared my throat. “You went away this weekend?”

  “I flew to San Diego for my parents’ anniversary.” He glanced at me before turning his eyes back to the road. “Spent most of the weekend on their boat.”

  So his parents lived in San Diego. I thought Jim had said his nephew was coming back to his roots? “How long have they been married?”

  “Thirty-five years.” He pulled a pair of sunglasses off his visor and slid them over his ears. “What music do you like?”

  “Why don’t we talk about the case instead?” I sucked in a deep breath. “I don’t understand why you’re coming. I’ve handled plenty of these on my own.”

  Two lines formed between Ryan’s brows. “The defense attorney asked me to come.”

  “Why?” I immediately asked.

  “Would you really rather drive to San Francisco without me?” Keeping one hand on the wheel, he reached over to my lap, laced his fingers through mine then brought my hand to his lips. “That hurts, buttercup.”

  “I’m sure you’ll survive.” I couldn’t help cracking a smile, but it wasn’t lost on me that he hadn’t answered my question. Sigh.

  I peered out the passenger window at the passing tomato fields, thinking it shouldn’t bother me to have Ryan along. I’d been dreading this meeting with Frank Wilson for weeks. The defense attorney was evil in a suit, the epitome of obnoxious, but I’d (somehow) maintained my professionalism throughout.

  “You want to know why he asked me to come along.” He squeezed my hand, then turned in my direction. “I’ll be straight with you. He said that you refuse to negotiate a settlement, and he called Stan Corbett.”

  My blood boiled. “He refuses to negotiate with me.”

  “I know.” He switched on the radio. “But don’t kill the messenger.”

  I flipped the radio back off. “Are you going to take the case from me?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “But, Stan is friends with opposing counsel. So it’s a sticky situation.”

  “I didn’t know that.” My eyes narrowed. “Frank has no leg to stand on, that’s what gets me. We wasted so much time at mediation. The mediator drilled him on making an offer. But he refused.”

  “I’m sure you’ll bring him to his knees eventually.” He sounded matter-of-fact. “Or wipe the floor with him at trial.”

  His compliment warmed my belly. “You seem pretty sure of yourself considering you’ve never seen me in action.”

  He glanced at me briefly. “I trust my instincts.”

  I turned the radio on, then watched Ryan with interest. He was his usual relaxed, confident self, driving with one hand on the bottom of the wheel. I couldn’t help but wonder when he’d needed to trust his instincts before. Maybe it had something to do with why he’d left his firm in San Francisco to move home to San Diego?

  Maybe I should trust my own instincts with Ryan, because my heart sure wanted to.

  An hour later, he pulled into the parking garage, found a spot on the fifth floor, then killed the engine. “Ready?”

  I thought back to his statement that I would wipe the floor with Frank. It gave me a nice boost. “Oh, I’m ready.”

  ****

  After two hours in the conference room with Frank Wilson, I was ready to throw something. He completely ignored me and the few times Ryan managed to bring me into the conversation, Frank immediately dismissed what I had to say.

  “I’m not saying this case is without merit.” Frank looked across the table at Ryan. “I’m just saying you need to be reasonable about it.”

  “Mrs. Somerset is eighty years old.” My voice was firm. “The poor woman lost her husband of fifty-two years, the love of her life and her sole caregiver because of your insured’s negligence.”

  “You’re not taking his life expectancy into consideration. He was eighty-two years old and had been in and out of the hospital for years.” Frank winked at me. Actually winked like he’d scored some big point. “Who’s to say the doctor didn’t miss a stroke or something in the autopsy and he ran into my client?”

  “
There is no evidence to indicate that.” Remembering the tears that had streamed down Marie Somerset’s gently worn face, I took a breath. “None of your experts disputed the cause of death when I deposed them.”

  He tilted his head. “Maybe they were too distracted by your pretty face.”

  “Perhaps your supervisor should join us.” Ryan’s voice sounded calm, but his jaw muscles pumped. “Then we can get this meeting back on a professional level.”

  “Didn’t mean any harm.” Frank chuckled smugly. “No need to get touchy.”

  “That’s it,” I said, as Ryan and I stood in unison.

  Ryan lifted the thick Somerset file off the table. “We’ve wasted enough time here. We’ll see you at trial.”

  Frank’s brows rose, and he splayed his hands on the conference table. “You want to settle this case or not?”

  “We can easily win at trial.” My voice was much calmer than I felt. “However, we drove an hour and a half per your request. If you’re going to make an offer, then make it now.”

  Frank’s beady eyes bore into me. “Five-hundred thousand. Take it or leave it.”

  “That number is insulting.” I mulled over the offer in my head. My client was sympathetic. The defendant had been drunk. They could easily get over a million. “One point five, Mr. Wilson.”

  “Not for a man his age. His golden years were gone.” Frank shook his head. “Seven fifty. That’s all the authority I have.”

  “Then go back to your insurance company and ask for more.” I glanced at Ryan, then nodded toward the door. “We won’t take less than a million three.”

  Frank pushed to his feet, but I strode through the door without looking. Ryan and I passed the receptionist’s desk and waited for the elevator in silence.

  I breathed slowly and watched the numbers above the doors light up one by one. Finally, the elevator arrived and opened with a charming ding.

  We stepped into the empty elevator, and watched the doors slide closed. Ryan hit the button for the parking garage. He stood straight and stiff, and his jaw ticked.