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Well At Least Someone Is Having Sex

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Back in her hotel room Grace checked her emails, sent a list of instructions to her assistant, and tried to digest what she'd learned so far about the Shell-Morr litigation.  But her thoughts kept going back to Jack.  Grace liked to figure people out.  And she realized she had no idea what to expect from her co-counsel.  Worse, she was starting to question what to expect from herself.

Jack was stirring up feelings she hadn't had in a long time, and she better just stop herself from thinking in that direction.  In a few months she would be up for partner at her law firm.  It was everything she had worked for and dreamed of for the past five years.  This would be the worst time possible to let herself get distracted, especially over a guy who didn't even live in the same state. Apart from which, any sort of personal involvement with a lawyer she was working with was a conflict of interest. 

From now on, she promised herself, she'd make sure her interactions with Jack were strictly professional.

* * *

He wasn't stupid, and he certainly didn't seem lazy.  The only explanation was that he was out of his mind.  Why else would Jack have walked away from a partnership at an international powerhouse firm like Graham, Spalding to open his own office representing a handful of small businesses, individuals and, basically, whoever walked in the door?  She wasn't buying his explanation for the career change.   Why even be a lawyer if you didn't want to shoot for the top?  Grace was unapologetically pondering this question as the court reporter rearranged furniture in preparation for Shelley Sherman's deposition. 

Morrie insisted on attending his ex-wife's deposition in the state court case, and Grace was sitting in.   Robbie was sitting in as well, since his mother was represented in this case by her divorce lawyer, a stylishly groomed woman in her 50's named Margaret who wore narrow reading glasses, a no nonsense manner, and what looked like a vintage Chanel suit.  Probably had a lot of rich divorce clients. 

Grace was used to holding depositions in the spacious conference room of her firm or whatever opposing firm was involved in the case, with a glass encased panoramic view of the Philly skyline as a backdrop.  The lawyers would conduct their questioning and objections in sedate tones, while a legal assistant slipped unobtrusively in and out, making sure there was plenty of hot coffee and other accouterments on a long sideboard underneath the oil on canvas paintings of the founding fathers of the country or, barring that, at the very least the founding partners of the law firm.

This deposition was taking place in the cramped office of the court reporter, around a table that was clearly meant for four people.  There was a vending machine in the hallway that dispensed really bad coffee.  Packets of powdered nondairy creamer were available.  Jack was already seated at the table. He was wearing khakis today, and a sports coat, but no tie.

The court reporter smiled apologetically and settled herself in her chair. 

"I'm sorry.  I didn't realize there were additional people attending. I should have booked the larger room, but it's not available now."

"Don't worry about it," Jack said, and Grace noticed again that the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled. She mentally dressed him in a Brooks Brothers suit.  There.  Now that would be an attractive package.

They had pulled as many chairs into the windowless room as possible, and Grace was wedged between Robbie and a small end table that held a phone, a lamp and some brochures about the court reporting business. The court reporter was at one end of the table, with Shelley seated to her left.  Shelley's lawyer sat opposite the court reporter, squeezed in front of another small table that held a fake plant in a bright pink pot, and a glass candy dish someone had forgotten to refill.

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