Текст книги "Friction"
Автор книги: Sawyer Bennett
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 18 страниц)
“Yes, Your Honor,” we both answer simultaneously, but Leary reaches into her briefcase and pulls out a multipage document. Handing it over to him, she says, “Mr. Holloway and I worked out a proposed pretrial order. We’ve been able to agree on all of the issues for the jury except for a minor disagreement on the wording of the causation issue.”
Judge Henry takes the order and starts reading it. He pays careful attention to the wording issues. These will be the exact questions the jury will have on their verdict sheet when it’s time for them to deliberate.
“Before I let you argue about the wording of the causation issue, is everything else accurate on the order? Witnesses? Evidence? You both agree on all this stuff?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Leary says quickly. “Everything is on there.”
Massive guilt pours through me, because not everything. My three surprise rebuttal witnesses aren’t on there, but under the law, I don’t have to provide those. Just another reminder of the weight I’m carrying on my shoulders by keeping this secret from Leary.
Judge Henry nods and turns back to the jury issues. “Okay, Miss Michaels, tell me what the problem is with the wording here.”
For the next ten minutes, both of us argue until we turn blue in the face. Our disagreement isn’t a minor one, and it’s something we tried to work out on our own one day through e-mail correspondence. It was weird having a spirited argument with her over the law and rules of procedure. It was a good thing we did it via e-mail and from our respective offices, because she was so sassy to me, I wanted to bend her over my knee and fire her ass up. I wanted to fuck her hard and make her come all over my cock.
Of course, none of that happened.
That night, though, when she came over to my house, I told her that it turned me on, and she proceeded to pick a fight over our respective positions on tort reform. She lit into me good, didn’t hold back, and was about as disrespectful as you could get. Turned me the fuck on, and she got her spanking and a hard fucking to boot. I went to bed with a satisfied smile on my face as I pulled her into my arms.
Judge Henry finally makes a decision and actually comes up with a middle-ground compromise on the issue. I’m satisfied with it; Leary isn’t. She wanted to win and she didn’t, and I have to wonder what mood she’ll be in when we leave here, since she didn’t get exactly what she wanted.
“Is there anything else we need to discuss before the trial?” Judge Henry asks as he takes his glasses off and puts them on the table.
“I don’t think so,” I respond.
Leary says, “Nothing other than some standard motions in limine that I’ll need to present before the trial starts.”
“Sounds good,” Judge Henry says. “We’ll address those at the appropriate time. Now, I need to ask, is there any chance of settlement? I see in the file that Miss Michaels has filed a motion for sanctions against Mr. Collier and TransBenefit for failing to show up at the mediation.”
His hard gaze is pinned on me, and he’s giving me a little preview of his feelings about that motion. “I’m sorry, Your Honor. Against my advice, TransBenefit is refusing to make an offer.”
“You know I don’t like these insurance companies not playing by the rules, Mr. Holloway. This motion that Miss Michaels had to file does not make me happy. Is your client aware that the law pretty much demands I award her the money she’s asked for?”
“Yes, sir,” I say quickly. “I’ve advised Mr. Collier to pay the amount rather than have me argue the motion, but he doesn’t want to take my advice.”
“Well, maybe pass on to your client that I might just tack on a little more to what she’s asking for not only wasting her time but mine as well.”
“Duly noted, sir,” I say with an apologetic smile. “I’ll pass the message along.”
“Okay, then,” Judge Henry says as he stands up from his desk. Leary and I also stand, and we all take a moment to shake hands. “I’ll see you two in my courtroom week after next for the start of the trial.”
Leary and I wish Judge Henry a good day, grab our briefcases, and head out the door. After waving good-bye to Mary, we hit the back hallway.
“How mad are you about the jury issue?” I ask with a teasing smile.
“Not mad enough to avoid you tonight,” she says saucily. “You owe me a good fucking, remember?”
I do a quick look behind us, don’t see anyone, and spin on Leary. Dropping my briefcase, I grab her by the shoulders and push her back into the wall. She doesn’t even get out an outraged gasp before my mouth is on hers and I’m giving her a good, hard kiss.
I make it quick because I don’t want to get caught, but before I pull completely away from her, I ask, “Do you adore me, too?”
Her eyes light up, go a shade warmer, and she places her fingertips on my jaw. “Yeah, I adore you, too.”
CHAPTER 19
LEARY
The trial has started.
It’s on.
We’re in our third day of jury selection, and it’s almost complete. Contrary to what many people think, a case is either won or lost in jury selection. There’s evidence and witnesses and then the pomp and circumstance of compelling closing arguments. While that’s all important, none of it matters unless you have the right jury.
The law says the jury should be fair and impartial.
I say horseshit.
Every attorney who has ever conducted an effective voir dire has done so by stacking the jury with people who are biased in his or her favor. To do this, the judge gives us latitude in asking a wide variety of questions, designed to pick at and expose a juror’s true feelings and philosophies. Mix that in with body language, tone of voice, and eye contact, and there’s a true art to homing in on those jurors who can make or break your case.
So far, Reeve and I have agreed on ten of the twelve spots. The clerk has called in two more people from the jury pool to fill the empty seats, and I begin questioning them, starting from the top once again. Basic background information, marital status, current job, educational history, et cetera. Then I dive into meatier issues, like how they feel about tort reform and people who bring lawsuits against doctors.
So far, I’ve been pleased with the jurors. I’ve tried to stack it male heavy, because they’ll be more sympathetic to an attractive woman with deformed breasts. Women, naturally, will not be sympathetic to Jenna being a stripper. I did exercise a few of my challenges on two men who, despite what might be a natural affinity for boobs, had other things about them that made them unattractive to me. One was a schoolteacher, and they’re notoriously conservative, and the other was a minister. Now, I’ve had my share of liberal ministers on juries before, but there was something about the way the man looked at Jenna that had me on edge. All of his answers made him come across as completely fair and impartial, but I noted censure in his gaze. So I went with my gut instinct and released him.
Turning to the first applicant in one of the empty seats, I say, “Thank you for the background information, Mr. Harmon.”
He beams back at me. He’s young, maybe twenty-five or so, unmarried, and employed as a graphic designer. His blond hair is long and he sports a scraggly beard. He’s wearing a pair of khaki pants and a blue flannel shirt, and I was absolutely charmed by his surfer-stoned-on-pot lingo. He even called me “dude” twice but, again, in a charming way.
“Can you tell me how you feel about the type of lawsuit that my client, Jenna LaPietra, has brought against Dr. Summerland and his practice?”
Mr. Harmon leans back, places one ankle on his knee, and grins. “Nothing wrong with it. It’s what our country is about, right? Equal access to the judicial system and all.”
I’m surprised he didn’t add on a “dude” to that, but the guy is surprisingly smart. He has a college degree, after all.
“And in particular, when the trial is over, I’m going to be asking the jury to award Jenna a large sum of money. Part of that award will be for pain and suffering. Can you tell me what you think about the concept of paying someone money for intangible things like pain and suffering?”
Mr. Harmon leans forward, shoots a quick look at the judge, then brings his gaze back to me. He dramatically sniffs the air in front of himself and says in his best stoned-out voice, “Ah, nothing like the sweet scent of money to drive the stink of pain and suffering away, dude.”
For the first time in my legal career, I’ve been struck dumb by a juror. His answer is absolutely fucking perfect, but was given in such a way as to border on disrespectful to me. Not that it bothered me, but I turn to look up at Judge Henry, wondering if he’ll chastise the juror. I find him staring bug-eyed at the blond-haired young man, his jaw slightly agape.
Before he can collect himself, I turn back to the juror and give him an appreciative smile. “Thank you, Mr. Harmon. Those are all the questions I have right now.”
I actually have a ton of other questions, but I’m not going to bother. After that answer, there’s no way Reeve is going to let that kid stay on the jury. Mr. Harmon all but agreed he’d be the type to award big bucks for pain and suffering.
Fucking bummer. That dude—yes, dude—was the dream juror of all jurors. I give him one last almost-sad glance and turn to the other juror who was called into the box.
The courtroom has emptied out and the bailiff has turned out the lights. He patiently waits at the back doors for Reeve and me as we pack up our stuff. Reeve’s cocounsel, Gill Kratzenburg, and the insurance company representatives—four in addition to Tom Collier—all made a break for the doors when Judge Henry recessed for the day. Jenna also hightailed it out of there, but that was so she could smoke a cigarette.
Reeve finishes up before me and comes to stand by my table. In a low voice so the bailiff doesn’t hear us, he says, “Please stay at my house tonight, Leary.”
I look up at him briefly, loving the needful look in his eyes, but then go back to packing up my materials. “I can’t. I have too much work to do to get ready for opening statements and my first witness.”
“Baby,” he murmurs and tingles shoot up my spine. “Please.”
Snapping my briefcase shut, I pick it up and look at him with a sympathetic smile. “Missing my body that much?”
He takes a step closer and leans down. He doesn’t touch me, though, because that would be stupid, what with the bailiff waiting on us.
“I miss you,” he says simply. “I just want you to sleep in my bed. It’s been three days.”
My heart melts and puddles warmly, and I really, really want to say yes, because I’ve missed him, too. We’ve both sort of wordlessly agreed not to stay with each other the last few nights, and I figured it was because we’d both be so busy there’d be no time to do anything.
Didn’t stop me from missing him every single night, though. I was having a hard time sleeping even though I was exhausted after a full day in trial and then several hours of work each night in order to prep for the following day.
“I really have to go over my opening statement and tweak some direct exams,” I say regretfully.
“Tell you what . . . come to my house. I’ll cook you dinner and you can spread out in my dining room to work. You can eat and go back to working. I’ll leave you alone and be waiting in bed for you when you’re done.”
The sweetest feeling of warmth and security flows through me. He wants to take care of me. He wants to be near me. I don’t move a muscle but say, “If Mr. Nosy Pants wasn’t in the back of the courtroom watching us right now, I would kiss the hell out of you.”
Reeve smiles at me. “Is that a yes?”
“It’s a yes,” I say.
We nod good-bye to the bailiff and share an elevator down. Unfortunately, there are a few straggling jurors heading down with us, so Reeve and I stand on opposite sides of the elevator and keep our gazes lowered to our feet.
I follow him home, and while he starts dinner—just some soup and sandwiches—I head back to his room and change out of my monkey suit. I pull one of the soft white T-shirts he wears under his dress shirts out of his drawer and slip it on.
Back in the dining room, I go ahead and unpack my briefcase, pulling out the things I’ll need to work on tonight. I’m not going to spend much time on my opening statements. I know the facts of this case inside and out, and the opening statements are nothing more than a forecast of the evidence I’ll present to the jury.
No, I’m going to spend most of my time working on the questions I’ll have for my first witness. Now, most attorneys would want their client to take the stand as the first witness in a trial. If you want to present a chronological case, it’s a good and effective way to start. I know Jenna will do a fantastic job. We spent a majority of this weekend going over her testimony.
But I’m going to do something a little different. I’m going to call Dr. Summerland to the stand.
He won’t be expecting it and neither will Reeve. Normally, the defendant would be called to testify during his case in chief, which follows mine. But the defendant isn’t required to take the stand, and I can’t afford to trust that Reeve will put him up there. I mean, if this douche were my client, I wouldn’t put him on the stand. He’s too arrogant and cocky, and the jury will hate him.
So I decided to take the bull by the horns and call Dr. Summerland during my case in chief. As I said, they’ll never expect it because it’s not a very common practice, and that will also ensure that Reeve will not have bothered to prepare Dr. Summerland for it as well.
I almost give out a maniacal, evil laugh, but suppress it. I don’t want to have Reeve pressing me over what I find so fucking funny.
“Dinner’s ready,” Reeve calls out, and I turn from the dining room table and pad into the kitchen. He’s laid out soup and grilled-cheese sandwiches at the center island and is pulling two bottles of water from the fridge.
“Looks fantastic,” I say, and realize how starved I am. I haven’t eaten since a quick bowl of cereal this morning. I’m always too wound up to eat during the lunch recess while a trial is in progress, preferring to stay at counsel table and work while it’s quiet. Reeve, I’ve noticed, goes to lunch each day with Kratzenburg and the insurance cronies, but I didn’t expect different. They would be analyzing every nuance of what happened in the courtroom.
“Eat up,” he says as he puts a bottle of water in front of me, leans over to kiss the side of my head, and sits down on one of the stools. I hop up on the one next to him and pick up the sandwich, taking a small bite.
“Mmm,” I moan in relief. “Best sandwich ever.”
He grins at me and dunks his in the bowl of tomato soup in front of him. “It’s basic but filling.”
I nod, too hungry to answer him. We eat in silence for a few moments, both lost in our thoughts, which should be focused on our opening statements, but I’m not right this second. I’m thinking about how great this food is, how sweet Reeve is for cooking for me, and even from my peripheral vision, how damn good he looks sitting next to me.
Visions of me pushing my bowl away, crawling onto his lap, and dry-humping him at the kitchen counter fill my head. Blinking, I try to clear my thoughts. We both have work to do after we eat. No sex . . . at least not until we’ve finished our preparations for tomorrow.
“Glad jury selection is over,” Reeve says out of the blue.
I expect my body to tense up over his comment, because it leads us into dangerous territory talking about the case, but then I realize I don’t feel awkward at all. I don’t think Reeve will reveal any dark secrets he might be harboring, and I sure as hell have no compulsion to share my game plan. Instead, I find it intriguing that we can talk about something in the trial that’s already been concluded and maybe see what the other person is thinking.
“Are you pleased with the results?” I ask.
He shrugs his shoulders. “It’s an okay jury for me. I think it’s a fantastic jury for you. You did a good job stacking it male heavy.”
I nod because he’s right. It’s a pretty damn good jury. Especially with Mr. Harmon on the panel.
Jerking in my seat, I snap my head toward him. “That reminds me . . . why didn’t you excuse Mr. Harmon from the panel? You know he’s absolutely pro-plaintiff.”
Reeve doesn’t look at me but takes another sip of his soup. “He’s okay. I just had a gut feeling about him that maybe he’ll be a little more impartial than you give him credit for.”
My eyes narrow at him. “Uh-uh. No way. Not buying it. You totally should have kicked him off the panel, but you didn’t. Why not?”
He just ignores me, taking another sip of soup.
I reach my hand out and lay it on his forearm, halting his movements. He turns to look at me.
“Reeve, why didn’t you excuse Mr. Harmon? He’s bad for your case.”
With a blank face, Reeve just stares at me, a tiny muscle in his cheek pulsing. He swallows hard and covers my hand with his own. “Don’t ask me that question, Leary. Just leave it be, okay?”
I open my mouth to argue because I’m pretty sure I know why he did it, but then I snap it shut. I don’t want to hear him say it. I don’t want him to admit that he’s done something to help my case.
While part of me is sweetly overwhelmed that he’d do that, another part of me is horrified. Oh, not that he would do something unethical. As I’ve told him before, there are certain things I would sacrifice my law ethics for. But I don’t want to accept he might have thrown me a bit of a bone, because I don’t want there to be any expectations that I would ever do the same.
Because I wouldn’t.
I wouldn’t lift a single finger to help him in this case.
“I would never expect you to return a favor in this case, Leary,” Reeve says. “I didn’t do it expecting anything in return.”
My mouth gapes open, because he’s a fucking mind reader. His hand comes up, his knuckles chuck me under the chin, and my mouth closes. He smiles at me in understanding.
“I don’t get it,” I say, awash with confused feelings.
Reeve leans toward me, resting one hand gently on my thigh. He presses his lips against mine, and my eyes flutter closed over the gentle touch.
He pulls away, and I feel his hand curve around the back of my neck. My eyes open and he’s looking at me so seriously, I feel the weight of his stare pinning me down.
“Leary,” he says softly, “I want you to win this case.”
“What?” I gasp, but his other hand comes up to press his fingers to my lips.
“Shh,” he admonishes. “We’re not going to speak about this again, but put everything between you and me aside. I don’t believe in my case. I believe in yours. Unfortunately, I’m still stuck defending it. But that doesn’t mean I’m not hoping like hell that you and Jenna get everything you deserve. And here is what we won’t talk about again. I might do things to throw you a bone every now and then, and that’s not going to change. Just know that I’m doing this because I want to and because I can, and not because of anything you do for me in return.”
I blink at him in astonishment.
“We clear?” he asks softly.
I blink at him some more.
“Leary?”
Finally, I nod my head. “I don’t know what to say.”
He smiles at me, his fingers squeezing my neck. “Tell me you adore me.”
“You know I do,” I say from a place deep within my heart.
“Tell me you’re going to fuck me silly after you finish working tonight,” he says, now grinning big.
“You know I will,” I say as warmth spreads through me.
Reeve presses a quick kiss to my lips and releases me. He points at my food. “Good. Now hurry and eat, and hurry and get your work done. I’m kind of in a mood to play with my toys tonight.”
His voice rumbles over me, and there’s nothing I want more in this moment than to push my plate away so I can play with Reeve. But I can’t. My priorities remain in order. This trial is too important, so food first, then work, and then I’m going to let Reeve do whatever he wants to me.
CHAPTER 20
REEVE
Leary’s standing in front of the jury, having eschewed the wooden podium that sits off to the right. Instead, she prefers to pace back and forth in front of the jurors as she makes her opening statement. She does so without memorization or even written bullet points. Her entire story pours forth from her soul, and while opening statements are merely supposed to be a dry foretelling of the evidence, Leary talks to the jury with so much passion about Jenna’s case, the jurors are all hanging on the edges of their seats as they listen to her.
She’s fucking amazing at this shit.
Looks fucking beautiful, too, in a custom-tailored taupe skirt and matching suit jacket with a high mandarin collar. The skirt comes to just below her knees, and because it’s a fairly brisk fall day, she decided to go with buttery golden-brown boots with a high heel. She’s wearing her chocolate-brown hair loose around her shoulders, and I get it—with a jury that’s predominantly male, she’s going for a little sex appeal as well. There’s not even a hint of a stuffy, uptight attorney in her form before the jury.
Her words start to fade as I can’t help letting my gaze drop to her ass every once in a while. When I think of her ass and the things we did last night, well, let’s just say it’s a good thing I won’t have to be standing up in front of the jury anytime soon. My opening statements went off without a hitch, although I’m pretty sure three of the jurors started nodding off during my speech.
Fine by me.
I don’t want them to connect with me or my client, and I might have even flattened out the tone of my voice a little to help make what I was saying super monotonous. Anything, anything at fucking all I can do to give Leary a leg up without actually sacrificing ethics, I’m going to do. The guilt over calling rebuttal witnesses is so thick and pervasive, it’s almost suffocating me at times.
Last night after Leary finished work, she came back to my bedroom and slid into bed. I had finished well over an hour before and entertained myself by watching Chappelle’s Show.
Turning the TV off, I turned toward her, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her in close.
“Tired?” I asked her softly.
“Actually, a little wound up,” she murmured, leaning in to kiss and suck along the base of my throat. It felt so fucking good that I immediately started to swell for her.
“Can I play a little bit?” I asked her, my hand slipping under the back waistband of her panties and palming her ass.
“What did you have in mind?” she asked in a husky voice, her hand going underneath the sheets and in between my legs, where she found me naked and hard as a rock.
Pushing my finger down in between her ass cheeks, I lightly rubbed over her tight bud, which caused her to jerk in my arms. “I was thinking about playing back here a bit.”
“You’re too big,” she said immediately, even as her hips started gyrating against my finger as I gently massaged her sensitive hole.
“Yeah . . . I am too big,” I said, not with any arrogance, but because I knew she couldn’t take me back there right off the bat. “But I have a toy that I just know you’ll love.”
“Hmm,” she purred low in her throat. “Okay.”
And just like that, she submitted to me and my dirty little fantasies.
And fuck, it was spectacular.
I didn’t go for my butt plug right away, but rather stripped her bare and ate her pussy first, making her come twice so she was nice and loose. Then I flipped her over on the bed, brought her up on her knees, and pushed her chest down to the mattress so her ass was raised high in the air. Stroking her skin, I spoke dirty words to her that caused her to moan. She held her breath when I spread her ass cheeks and dribbled lubricant over her. I used my finger on her first, almost busting a nut when she groaned in satisfaction as I went three knuckles deep on her. I massaged and played gently with her, slowly building her up. When she was ready, I said, “Okay, baby, I’m going to ease this in. I promise it will feel good.”
She didn’t even tense. She was so loose and trusting that when I placed the tip of the plug to her ass, she actually pushed back against me a little. I worked it into her slowly, tilting my head to the side so I could see it as it slid into her body. When I had it in to the hilt, I twisted the base and she cried out.
And fuck, I was done playing. I grabbed my cock, rubbed it through her slick folds a few times, and then slammed into her until my pelvis pushed hard against the plug in her ass. Leary shrieked, not in fear or pain, but in absolute pleasure, and I know this because she immediately demanded, “Do that again.”
So I did.
Again and again and again.
I fucked her hard and fast, she came really fast, and I didn’t lag behind. So different from the sweet and slow lovemaking three days prior on our last night together before the trial started. There was a quiet desperation to the way I performed with her that night, and I hope when everything finally shakes out from this trial, Leary remembers how great every single action in my bed or hers has been between us.
“When you’ve heard all the evidence”—Leary’s voice cuts back into my thoughts, and I shift in my seat, because my trip down memory lane just now has given me a hard-on under the counsel table—“I’m going to come before you, and I’m going to ask you for compensation. It’s going to be a large amount. Be ready for it. It’s going to be an amount to compensate Jenna for her past medical bills, the reconstructive surgeries she still faces, her lost wages, and her pain and suffering. All I ask is that you listen to everything with an open mind and reserve your judgment until you’ve heard all the evidence. Thank you.”
Leary stands a moment more and takes time to look each and every juror in the eye. It’s an impressive and brave way to make a connection with them.
Turning from the jury, Leary walks back to her counsel table and stands in front of her chair. She doesn’t bother sitting down but rather waits for the judge to say, “Thank you, Miss Michaels and Mr. Holloway for your opening statements. The jury is now with Plaintiff. You may call your first witness, Miss Michaels.”
I pull my yellow pad closer to me, prepared for Leary to call Jenna to the stand. I even write Jenna’s name across the top sheet and underline it twice.
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Leary says cordially. “At this time, the plaintiff would like to call Dr. Garry Summerland to the stand.”
I freeze with my pen tip resting against my legal pad. Dr. Summerland curses beside me and then leans over to whisper, “What the hell is going on?”
Looking up to the bench, I hold up one finger on my hand. “Just a moment, Your Honor, if you please.”
“Make it quick,” Judge Henry says.
I put my arm around the back of Dr. Summerland’s chair and lean in toward him. “She’s allowed to call you during her case if she wants.”
“This is fucking great,” he hisses at me.
“You’ll be fine,” I assure him. “Just tell the truth and nothing will go wrong.”
He glares at me and I think to myself, I hope you lie, you cocky son of a bitch, and I hope Leary wipes the floor with you.
Dr. Summerland stands from the chair, buttons his suit coat, and makes his way to the witness stand. The bailiff holds a Bible under his hand, and the clerk puts him under oath.
If I actually gave a shit about this case, this would be very bad for me. Leary pulled a brilliant move, and I admire the fuck out of her for it. She took a gamble, knowing the chances of me preparing him for this were nil. And now I want to laugh over the green tinge to Dr. Summerland’s face.
“Good morning, Dr. Summerland,” Leary says politely as she sits back down at counsel table. In North Carolina, attorneys are not permitted to stand while questioning a witness unless it’s to hand them an exhibit.
He doesn’t respond but just nods at her, his lips flattened in a grimace. Stupid fuck. It’s common sense that if you act like an ass, the jury is going to think you’re an ass. On top of that, the jury clearly likes Leary, so if he treats her hostilely, they’re not going to like that.
I hope he’s a supreme asshole to Leary. She can handle herself, and any animosity she builds up against Dr. Summerland will help ease the blow I’m going to deliver later on in the case.
Leary doesn’t waste any time in laying out the history of Dr. Summerland’s treatment of Jenna. She goes right in for the kill. “Dr. Summerland, can you tell the jury your educational background?”
His chin goes up and superiority oozes off him. “Yes. I did my undergraduate degree at UCLA, medical school at Vanderbilt, and my internship and residency at Emory.”
“And you’re board certified, correct?” she asks politely.
“Yes.”
“In general surgery?”
“Yes,” he says, not willing to elucidate.
“You’re not, however, certified in plastic surgery, are you?” she asks him as she leans back casually in her chair.
“No, I’m not.”
“Plastic surgery is very different from general surgery, wouldn’t you say?” she asks demurely.
“In some respects, but in others we do some similar procedures.”
“Like what?” she asks, tilting her head and sounding generally intrigued and curious.
“Like mastectomies,” he says firmly.
“But the types of mastectomies you do are very different from a plastic surgeon’s, correct?”
“Well, the concept is the same,” he starts to say, but she cuts him off.
“When you do a mastectomy, it’s for women who opt not to have reconstruction, correct? They just want the offending tissue removed?”
“I suppose that’s one way to look at it,” he grumbles.
“And plastic surgeons . . . when they do mastectomies, it’s for the purposes of reconstruction so they can build back up the woman’s breast through implants, correct?”
“Yes, that’s what they do.”
“Dr. Summerland, do you recognize the New England Journal of Medicine as an authoritative medical periodical?”
“Yes, I do. I read it faithfully,” he says confidently. “In fact, there’s an article in a 2009 issue that discusses mastectomies performed by general surgeons.”
Leary dramatically raises her eyebrows in delight and smiles at Dr. Summerland. “Well, isn’t that terrific?” she says jovially as she waves a document in her hand. “I just happen to have that article here. May I approach the witness, Your Honor?”
