Текст книги "Friction"
Автор книги: Sawyer Bennett
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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 18 страниц)
CHAPTER 12
REEVE
Chad Pounds, the managing partner of Battle Carnes, drones on and on, reporting on the final numbers for the previous quarter. He makes all of the partners and associate attorneys jam into a conference room three times too small to hold all of us at the table and insists on disclosing the income that each person brought into the firm’s coffers.
This serves two functions. First, it praises and hopefully encourages those top earners to work harder, causing their already inflated egos to swell and puff some more. Big egos and overinflated senses of self are what drive money.
Or so the partners seem to think.
The second thing it accomplishes is to shame and humiliate the lower earners. Having their huge egos dinged and battered is a surefire way to get them motivated so they’ll earn more.
Or so the partners seem to think.
I think it’s all horseshit, so I tend to tune Chad out when he gets on his high horse. My earnings fall near the top, but that’s because, based on my experience, I tend to get the larger cases that earn more money. Simple mathematics, really, so I keep my ego—which is healthy enough—firmly encased and untouched.
While Chad focuses his gaze on one of the associates, Teddy Baker, who immediately shrinks because he didn’t have that great a quarter, my mind turns to more pleasant things.
Mainly Leary Michaels.
And fucking Leary.
And holding her at night.
And laughing with her.
And cooking her dinner and feeding it to her in bed.
And playing with her and my toys.
Okay, need to think of something else or I’ll be sporting an embarrassing boner in front of my peers.
But damn, she’s the perfect woman. It’s as if God created her just for me. So perfect, in fact, for the first time in my adult life I feel like getting religious and praying to the Big Guy in gratitude.
I’ve seen Leary every night for the past two weeks, with the exception of one night when she had to work late to prepare for a deposition. I tried to talk her into coming over to my house to work there, but she was having none of it. In fact, her exact words were, “Seriously, Reeve. Do you honestly think I’d get any work done with you in the same room with me?”
Christ, I loved hearing that.
Loved hearing how much she enjoyed me and my company and my dick.
Early on in our relationship, we easily gave in to the realization that being fuck buddies would best be served by fucking on a daily basis when possible. But thereafter, our relationship sort of morphed and settled into something more.
We went out to dinner. She helped me give Mr. Chico Taco a bath, and we laughed ourselves silly when he bounded out of the tub and ran crazy through the house, throwing soap everywhere. We call each other during the day just to chat, and once she breathily told me that she couldn’t wait to see me that night, and there was such feeling in it, my heart squeezed. I texted her a dirty joke, and she texted me back a picture of her boobs beautifully squeezed into a black lace bra with one hand pinching a nipple through the material.
I had to lock my office door and jack off to the picture, I was so aroused.
Yes, there’s no doubt. We’re not just fuck buddies. We’re in a relationship. It’s not something we’ve admitted to each other, and Leary still teases me about Vanessa and that she could be my fuck buddy, too, if I wanted. I didn’t like hearing that, so I tied her facedown on my bed and spanked the shit out of her, then I fucked her hard. That didn’t dissuade Leary from making that comment again, and in hindsight, I now realize that she enjoyed getting spanked so much that she brings Vanessa up quite a bit on purpose.
The one thing I haven’t been able to do is get close to Leary. She knows quite a bit about me, as we’ve spent long nights talking while we lie exhausted in bed after some amazing sex. She knows about my childhood in Vermont, my crazy days of undergrad at Penn State, and my slightly less crazy days at Harvard Law School. She knows about my law school mate and best friend, Cal Carson, who practices in New York, and she knows my parents are still happily married and living in an old farmhouse in the valley of the Green Mountains. I’ve told her my dreams and aspirations as an attorney, and I even almost grew a vagina by telling her that I adopted Mr. Chico Taco because I was lonely and it seemed easier than having a girlfriend.
Leary knows a lot about me, and yes, I’ve come to know a little about her. While I paint vivid details of my life, I tend to get fade-to-black images from her. I know she grew up poor and put herself through college and law school. Her mom lives in eastern North Carolina, but she doesn’t get to see her often because of her crazy work schedule. I asked about her father once, and she simply said she never knew him and then the conversation was closed.
Leary definitely keeps her private life private, and while I think we’re developing a deeper relationship, the one thing I don’t know is if Leary feels the same shift of the tides. It’s not something we’ve discussed, but I do intend to bring it up at some point.
The main problem in our relationship is the LaPietra case. True to our word, we leave the case out of the bedroom. I’ve never brought up her relationship with Jenna again, and she’s never spoken a word to me about it. I’m dying to know more, though, because when it boils right down to it, Leary has her heart invested in this case, and I am bound and determined to steal victory from her. This, in my opinion, spells disaster for us down the road—a thought that has me slightly nauseated at times.
The trial date is less than a month away, and as it looms closer, I feel like there’s a giant bomb ticking down, moving us closer and closer to what I’m thinking could be the end of us.
And that is not something I want.
My thoughts are interrupted when Chad announces the meeting is over and the attorneys start pouring out of the stuffy conference room. When I move to the door, Chad calls out, “Reeve . . . stay a minute. We want to talk to you about the LaPietra case.”
I nod and take one of the vacated chairs at the end of the table and wait for the room to clear.
When everyone is gone, Chad moves down closer to me, and the three litigation partners, Harry Bent, Lacy Carnes, and Gill Kratzenburg, do the same.
“The LaPietra trial is set for next month and we wanted to get an update on it, see how you think it’s going,” Chad says.
“And do you think it will settle?” Gill asks. “Obviously you know it will be better for us if it doesn’t settle but goes all the way.”
Of course I know that, I think drily. An early settlement means no more billable hours from this case. Pushing toward a full-blown trial means more riches for Battle Carnes’s coffers. I have to suppress the urge to roll my eyes. It’s the one thing that bothers me about this law firm—the quest for justice often falls prey to greed, but there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. I’m a paid employee and I do what I’m told.
“We have mediation set next week,” I tell the partners. “I think Summerland should put an offer on the table. The plaintiff, Jenna LaPietra, makes a sympathetic witness, and Dr. Summerland comes off too arrogant.”
Lacy Carnes snorts. “She’s a stripper, for God’s sake. How sympathetic can she be? No jury is going to award her money.”
“She’s a mother with a severely autistic child who strips to earn money to care for him, and now can’t do that because her breasts are horrifically mangled,” I say calmly. “I think that’s pretty sympathetic.”
Lacy harrumphs but Gill backs me . . . somewhat. “Stripping is legal, Lacy. I don’t see that having enough power to turn the jury against her.”
“Has the investigator found anything else we can use?” Lacy asks, and my heart drops and thuds in my stomach.
I’d been dreading this question, and dreading even more the answer I have to give, as the investigator we hired has indeed found something that he sent me just yesterday. I waited to share it with TransBenefit because I was hoping I could find some legal research that would prevent the evidence from coming in.
And with professional guilt, I realize I was doing that because I knew this was going to hurt Jenna LaPietra’s case, and in turn, I knew it was going to really hurt Leary.
“I just got his report yesterday,” I say after clearing my throat. “There is something we can use.”
All four partners lean forward with evil gleams in their eyes, and in that moment, I already start to mourn the loss of Leary. Because with this information, there’s no doubt I’m probably going to lose her.
“The investigator found three former employees who knew of the prostitution that was going on inside the club. They quit because they didn’t want any part of it. They’ll all testify that Jenna LaPietra sold her body for money.”
“Do they have actual knowledge?” Chad asks quickly.
“Her admission,” I say with another drop in my stomach.
“Excellent,” Lacy says with a lecherous grin. “Admission of a party opponent gets it past hearsay. I’d say that was money well spent on the investigator.”
Yes, this is the really bad news. Overhearing someone say something does not mean it can come into evidence. It’s generally prohibited as hearsay. However, there’s an exception to that rule if an opponent in a case makes a statement that can be used as evidence against them.
These witnesses’ testimonies are coming into evidence.
“Use it,” Gill commands.
I nod in acquiescence because I can’t say no. I can’t say no because not only is my boss giving me a direct order, but my oath as an attorney demands that I represent my clients to the best of my ability, which means using all available weapons in my arsenal.
“I’ll amend our discovery answers to provide the witnesses to opposing counsel,” I say, and then hold my breath to see what they’ll do.
This is a bad legal tactic, but one I’m hoping I can get away with. At the very least, I can give Leary a heads-up, and perhaps she can find something on these witnesses to discredit them. In revealing this, I’m doing something highly unethical. I’ve got the ability to destroy Leary’s case, and maybe her in the process, but I just can’t find it within me to care that I might be crossing a line. I’m determined to help her in any way I can, although she’ll probably never know of my efforts.
“No.” Harry Bent finally pipes into the conversation. He’s the most brilliant of the partners sitting around this table, and I’m not surprised that he’s the one who’s going to ruin my plans of helping Leary. “Don’t disclose the witnesses. Call them as surprise witnesses after Jenna LaPietra testifies.”
This sucks and is what I was afraid was going to happen.
Ordinarily, I’m required to identify all my potential witnesses to Leary. The exception is a witness who’s called in to rebut the other side’s evidence. This can be sprung as a surprise.
Harry is commanding me to ask Jenna point-blank on the stand if she engaged in illegal acts of prostitution. She, of course, will deny it. Then I will parade these three witnesses in front of her and Leary, who will watch while they sit on the stand and call Jenna a whore. The judge is going to let me do it, too.
I feel sick to my stomach, but I nod in agreement. “Sounds good,” I mutter.
“This is fantastic,” Lacy chortles over the possibility of humiliating a nice woman. “And this is so good, you need to recommend to the insurance carrier that they don’t offer a fucking dime to that woman. This needs to go all the way.”
She’s right, of course, because honestly, this evidence is so good they shouldn’t offer money. This evidence is so good that it could completely prejudice the jury.
I have no clue if Jenna LaPietra prostituted herself, but frankly, I don’t give a shit. Personally, I think it’s irrelevant, and I can see how a desperate mother would do something like that. Unfortunately, though, my feelings don’t seem to matter, and I’ve been given a direct order to exploit this evidence to our favor.
I want to vomit.
“I think I’ll sit second chair on this case with you, Reeve,” Gill says, almost cackling in glee. “A case this big should have two attorneys on it, and that way we can bill double.”
Asshole. Greedy fucking asshole.
A weariness overtakes me. For the first time since meeting Leary, I actually regret said meeting. I regret getting involved with someone that was supposed to only be a casual fuck, and because she’s so amazing, I now have feelings involved. I regret being the biggest idiot on the face of the earth for not recognizing that it’s impossible to be in bed with your enemy and not understand that someone is going to get hurt.
Unfortunately, Leary is under my skin now. She’s in my blood. While the appropriate thing would be to cut things off with her, I find myself too selfish to do so. Nope. I’m going to ride the Leary train all the way into the station, until I call those witnesses into court and destroy everything we’re starting to build.
“Let me get this straight—you’re fucking your opposing counsel?” Cal asks.
I have no clue why he’s stunned. He knows I’m no angel. He knows that would never stop me.
“Yes,” I grit out.
“And you have feelings for her?” he asks, stunned again.
I understand the disbelief. I’ve made it this far without a single long-term relationship. The fact I’ve been seeing Leary for three weeks has him perplexed.
“Yes,” I say in a softer tone, because I most definitely have feelings for this woman.
“You are fucked,” Cal says sympathetically.
I told him the entire sordid story, starting with meeting Leary in the elevator. I had to wait while Cal laughed hysterically, proclaiming that Leary might be his favorite person ever, even though he’d never met her.
When he finally stopped laughing, I told him the rest. I told him every bit of it and how in just the last several weeks, I’ve gone from fuck buddy to having feelings.
This he did not laugh about, because he knows this is serious stuff. The reason I called Cal is not just because he’s my best friend, but because he’s a true monogamous romantic at heart. He’s the type of guy who always dreamed of a fifty-year marriage with adoring children and grandchildren. While I’ve seen him have his share of flings and one-night stands, the truth is that Cal has always been looking for The One.
He found her, too, not that long ago, and I expect to be attending Cal and Macy’s wedding in New York before too much longer.
“I guess I don’t understand the big deal,” Cal says thoughtfully. “She loses the case. So what? That happens.”
“Apparently not to her,” I mutter. “But that’s not the problem. The problem is that she’s tied to this case emotionally. She has some personal connection to the plaintiff. It’s going to destroy her if she loses.”
“What’s the connection?” Cal asks curiously.
“No clue,” I admit with frustration.
He’s silent a minute, then he gently says, “Reeve, how much do you even know about this woman?”
I understand what he’s saying. How bothered can I be when I don’t even know what the true stake is to Leary? I don’t know this because she hasn’t opened up to me. He’s saying that maybe I’m still in fuck buddy–dom and don’t realize it.
Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly. “I know enough about her to know I want to know more.”
“Got it,” Cal says in immediate understanding, then hesitantly, “If she’s that important, maybe you should tell her what you know.”
I shake my head and rub the bridge of my nose, because he has managed to zero in on the source of my anxiety. “I could lose my bar license if I did that,” I tell him, which he already knows. “And honestly . . . she’s not that important.”
It hurts me to say that, but it’s true. I like her . . . a lot. But not enough to ruin my career.
“Understood,” Cal says. “Then maybe you should break it off.”
Yeah, that’s not going to happen, either. I’m too addicted to her right now. I’d sooner cut off my right arm. “I’m not willing to do that, either.”
“Then you are well and truly fucked, my friend,” Cal says sadly.
“Don’t I know it,” I agree.
So, Cal ultimately doesn’t provide any insight that helps, but more or less validates the conclusion to which I had already come. I’m going to keep this information to myself, for the sanctity of my law license. I’m going to let this play out and see how things continue to develop with Leary and me. And if our feelings continue to grow stronger, I have to hope to God that Leary won’t hold it against me when I destroy her case.
CHAPTER 13
LEARY
“I’m not sure how it’s possible,” Reeve says as he stares at me across my kitchen table, dinner having been fan-freaking-tastic. “But you actually get more beautiful every time I see you.”
I snicker as I pick up my wineglass. Waving it at him, I laugh, “Save the flattery, Mr. Holloway. You’re going to get laid tonight.”
I expect him to laugh with me, because I think I’m witty and charming, and he usually thinks so, too. Instead, his face falls sober and his eyes burn into me. “I’m not flattering you, Leary. I’m telling you the God’s honest truth. You are more beautiful every time I see you.”
A stillness overcomes me and I swallow hard. I set the wineglass down and return his stare. “How do you do that?”
“Do what?” he asks, his head tilted to the side.
“Make me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world. The most special. The most desired.”
“Because you are,” he says, and the tight leash I’ve kept on my heart the last few weeks shudders, loosens, and then falls away.
His words are genuine, with not an ounce of ulterior motive in them. I can tell, because I’ve come to know this man fairly well during our time together. He truly believes that about me, and it’s a fucking revelation. No one else has ever felt that way about me before.
“We’re not in fuck buddy–dom anymore, are we?” I ask him.
Reeve stands from the table, walks over to me, and pulls me from my chair. Bending down, he sweeps me up in his arms and starts to carry me toward my bedroom. “I don’t think we ever really were, baby.”
He takes me to my room and somehow manages to remove my clothes and his before I even know what’s happening. He does it slowly, turning it from our normal frenzied fumbling to something sweetly seductive.
Then I’m on my back in the middle of my bed, and he’s on top of me, hard and heavy between my legs and content to just hold my face and kiss me softly. He does this for so long that I seem to lapse into a contented alternate reality, focusing on the feel of his lips and the texture and taste of his tongue. I imagine this is what a drug addiction feels like, so damn good that you would give up your very soul just to have a little bit more.
Reeve’s lips move from my mouth to my jaw, down to past my collarbone, where he takes his time with my breasts. I know Reeve is a self-admitted breast man, which makes him an ironic choice to defend Jenna’s case. But normally he’s devouring me, biting and pinching to get the most arousal out of me. Tonight, however, he’s gentle and careful, softly swirling his tongue with a humming noise in the back of his throat. It makes me want to arch my back and purr like a kitten in his arms.
His fingers work like butterflies between my legs, pulsing flutters across my most sensitive parts. He builds me up slowly, like a dull fire catching its first big flame from a tiny gust of wind. Then the fire takes hold, leaps, and fans, and with one perfect touch of his thumb against me, I come apart in a slow burst of magical fireworks within my body.
It’s the most beautiful orgasm I’ve ever had, and I know I’ll never forget it.
Pushing up on his elbows, Reeve hovers above me. His eyes are serious, a deep ocean of unstated emotion. “Tell me it’s okay not to put on a condom,” he says quietly, his voice husky with desire. “Tell me it’s okay to fuck you bare.”
“It’s okay with me,” I tell him quietly as my hand comes up to touch his face. My fingers graze along his temple, push back into his hair. He turns his head slightly, pushing it against my palm in a display of needful affection.
Nothing else needs to be said about the condom issue. The minute he asked me if it was okay, I trusted him enough to know he’s telling me that he’s clean. When I told him it was okay with me, that meant I was protected and clean, and he took me at face value, because he proceeds to fill me with his massive length in one sweetly sublime thrust.
Reeve slowly moves within me, leaning to the side on one elbow, his other arm locked out straight to give him more leverage. His face hovers over me, lips just inches from mine. I can smell the wine on his breath and hear the ecstasy rumbling in his chest.
We stare at each other, boldly, candidly, leaving no room for walls or barriers to the feelings that have developed. I feel, in this moment, closer to him than any man before in my life.
Reeve rolls his hips, pumps into me carefully, drawing out every bit of feeling and nuance as our flesh slides against each other. He makes love to me, all the while staring into my eyes. It’s a connection that starts to cement us together hard, and I know when both of us come, it won’t be broken.
At least not by any ordinary means.
My climax starts building again, and I can tell Reeve’s is, too, as his hips move a little faster. He lays his weight down on me, grabbing my hands with his and pulling my arms above my head. His fingers lace with mine, and I raise my knees up to his ribs to accommodate him deeper.
Both of our bodies now undulate against each other, slick with moisture, our chests heaving from exertion. Because Reeve’s body is flat against mine, every grind of his pelvis against me causes deep pulses of pleasure to fire throughout my body.
With one extradeep push, the buildup of pressure tears free, and I’m falling apart. I do so with a soft cry, arching my neck and biting at my lip.
I hear Reeve say, “So fucking perfect,” and then with one more hard thrust, he starts shaking. His head falls to my shoulder, and he lets out a soft groan of release while his cock jerks inside me as he comes.
My arms wrap around his neck, and I hug him tight as we continue to shiver against each other. This has been the most perfect sexual experience of my life, because I actually opened up my heart, and it made all the difference in the world.
I think I should have figured out after that first night we slept together at his house that Reeve could never be just a fuck buddy. It’s one thing to have sex. It’s quite another to sleep all night with a man. There’s something intimate in drifting off to dreamland, wrapped up tight in someone’s arms.
It’s not something I had with Ford. Ford and I were truly about the sex. We were friends, of course, and could talk about many things. But we weren’t snugglers. We didn’t express ordinary affection, or tell each other our deepest secrets while sharing a pillow.
From that first night, I learned that Reeve is a snuggler. He likes to be wrapped around me when he sleeps. He claimed it was only because he was used to snuggling up with Mr. Chico Taco, but I seriously doubt that, as the massive dog has his own gigantic bed on the floor. And poor Chico. On the nights that Reeve stays with me, he has to suffer with sleeping over at Vanessa’s house. This I feel bad about, for Mr. Taco’s sake, but secretly I’m pleased, because every time Reeve asks her to take him, he always tells her he’s staying at my house for the night.
Petty, I know, but I love it.
Right now, we aren’t exactly in full snuggle, time-to-go-to-sleep mode. Instead, Reeve is flat on his back and I’m pressed into his side, my head lying on his shoulder. My right leg is twined with his, slightly bent and raised so I can feel his softening cock against my knee, still wet with his release. His arm curled under me strokes my hip while my fingers play with the patch of trimmed hair that surrounds his dick.
“Looks like we’re back on the battlefield tomorrow,” I say absently. It’s the first time I’ve willingly brought up Jenna’s case to Reeve.
“Yup,” he says. “We should probably do a lot of glaring at each other across the table. You know, just so people don’t think we’re fucking each other.”
I snicker and give a playful tug on the hairs my fingers are skimming through. “I’m sure we’ll both conduct ourselves professionally.”
Reeve is silent and I concentrate on the thrum of his heartbeat under my ear. Tomorrow is the court-ordered mediation for Jenna’s case. All cases filed in superior court are ordered into mediation, where the parties sit down and try to settle the case voluntarily. If that doesn’t work, we start preparing for trial.
“I’ve recommended they make an offer to settle,” Reeve says, and my fingers still because he’s giving me information he probably shouldn’t. I don’t say anything, though, because I don’t want him to feel any obligation to divulge anything to me.
“Even if they take my advice, the amount they put on the table won’t be enough,” he says as an afterthought.
“Is there any amount of money that will make it right for Jenna?” I ask rhetorically.
“Not for what she’s been through,” he says with compassion.
My heart zings in joy that Reeve has said that—not because I think it will help my case, but because he’s a truly good guy and despite the fact he’s working for the Antichrist, he has a heart. I saw it when he looked at Jenna’s deformities with compassion, and I can’t help but think someone like him would be better serving the cosmic universe by working on our side of the law rather than doing insurance defense.
“Tell me about Midge Payne,” Reeve says out of the blue, changing what was a precarious subject for us anyway. “I’m dying to know if she’s real or an urban legend.”
I chuckle softly. “I can assure you she’s real.”
“There are so many rumors floating around the bar,” Reeve says.
“Well, I know a mixture of truth and rumor, probably. Let’s see . . . she started working for Grant Knight in 1977 when she graduated from law school at Duke. She was twenty-four and he was forty-four. Even though he was married, he seduced Midge and they became lovers. She made partner in 1978 and the firm became Knight & Payne.”
“Saucy wench,” Reeve says with a chuckle.
“Right?” I agree. “Anyway, this I do know to be true, because Midge has told me on more than one occasion. Grant taught Midge how to use all of her assets, especially coming up in a legal world when women were the minority in our profession. That included not only her legal knowledge but her wit and her sensuality.”
“That was very progressive of him,” Reeve butts in.
“Agreed,” I say with a smile. “Unfortunately, Grant died eight years later at age fifty-two from a heart attack. Rumor is Midge was having sex with him at the time.”
“What a way to go.”
“The best way to go. Rumor also has it that Midge was devastated when he died, that she truly loved him even though he never divorced his wife to be with her. It’s said she’s never had a serious relationship since then but that she does take a lot of lovers—some men, some women. There’s a really kinky rumor running around that she’s actually fucking one of the law clerks in the criminal division. He’s only twenty-four or something, but apparently hung like a racehorse.”
“She sounds unbelievable,” Reeve says. “Although much of that is rumor, so how can you know?”
“Well, what little interaction I’ve had with her, I can believe every bit of it. She’s the most progressive, enlightened female attorney I’ve ever met. I aspire to be like her.”
“Hopefully not the part where she takes a lot of lovers, right?” he teases.
“Definitely not,” I tell him. “I’m very satisfied with my current man.”
That earns me an affectionate squeeze from Reeve, and I squeeze him back for good measure.
“I will tell you a true story about Midge, though.” I’m in a sharing mood for some reason. “She didn’t interview me for the job at her firm. Her cousin Danny did. But Midge was watching from a video monitor and feeding him questions. They had one special question they asked each applicant, and apparently I gave the best answer, and that earned me the job.”
“I suspected you were brilliant,” he says as his hand slides down to caress my ass.
Mmm. Nice.
“I’ll never forget meeting her on my first day. I looked horrible, so dowdy and uninteresting. Midge encouraged me to explore my feminine side. To use my other attributes to help get me further in the game.”
“Well, first, I can’t imagine you ever looking dowdy, and second, you’re saying I have Midge Payne to thank for your little striptease in the elevator?”
“You should send her flowers or something,” I mutter.
“I definitely should,” he replies. Then as an afterthought he asks, “What was the interview question that you nailed?”
“Oh, that,” I say as I lean up on my elbow so I can look at him. He’s grinning up at me, completely enjoying my loose lips, because I normally reveal very little about my life. I find I like this sharing thing. With great flourish, I say, “Danny asked if there was ever a scenario in which I’d be willing to put my law license at stake. Apparently, every single candidate answered with a resounding no.”
Reeve’s smile fizzles and dies. His jaw goes tight. “And how did you answer?”
He clearly knows I answered the opposite, but he wants the details. And for some reason, I feel like he’s not going to like my answer. It was a simple question, but the answer was a bit more complex. I spent a lot of time and money earning my law license, and there are very specific things I can do to lose it. Law schools pound into their students the fear of letting their ethics waver and getting in trouble with the bar. The loss of my law license would be catastrophic, so this is something I do take seriously.
But as with most everything in life, there are exceptions. Even though I know he really won’t like my answer, I give it to him anyway. “I laid out several scenarios where I would jeopardize it.”
“Like what?”
“I’m not sure of my exact words . . . it was so long ago. But I think I said I’d do it if someone’s life was at stake.”
