Practice Makes Perfect

  Good. He deserved it.

  This was all his own doing, really. He had obviously taken on too many cases in these last couple of weeks before the partnership decision, trying to show her up. So the mess he was in certainly wasn’t her problem. Besides, he didn’t want her help, anyway. Ask anyone but Payton, he had said.

  Fine. Great. That officially released her of any obligation to get involved.

  Payton sighed again.

  Pity.

  For some reason, the sentiment felt less and less victorious with every moment that passed.

  Payton sat at her desk.

  And sat some more. Drumming her fingers.

  Dum-de-dum-de-dum.

  Oh, fuck it. Without a clue why, she got up and strode out of her office.

  PAYTON KNOCKED ON Tyler’s door.

  When he looked up from his desk and saw her standing there, Tyler looked more than a little surprised. Payton understood this. She could probably count on one hand the number of times she and Tyler had spoken. As J.D.’s best friend, he was de facto off-limits.

  Taken aback though he was, Tyler smiled good-naturedly.

  “Payton. Hi. Can I help you with something?”

  Hmm. He actually seemed pleasant enough, Payton thought. Shame he had such poor taste in friends.

  She leaned against the door. Totally blasé. “I just thought you might want to know that J.D. is in trouble. He’s stuck at the courthouse and can’t make it back for some deposition he’s supposed to be taking right now.”

  She nonchalantly examined the tips of her fingernails. “Not that it’s any of my concern, but the deposition is for some important case he has with KPLM Consulting. I guess it’s a pretty important matter.”

  She sighed unworriedly, picking at a cuticle. “He’ll probably get fired if he doesn’t find someone to take the dep in the next couple of minutes. Not that I care. I just so happened to catch a glance at the deposition notice on Kathy’s desk; it’s a 30(b)(6) deposition. Whatever.”

  Not surprisingly, as J.D.’s best friend, Tyler was extremely flustered by this unexpected news.

  “Um . . . okay. Wow. Let me think for a second.” He got up from his desk, walked around it, then went back. “I guess I should call Kathy. No, J.D.” He looked uncertainly over at Payton. “I should call J.D., right? See what he wants me to do?”

  “I don’t think there’s time for that,” Payton told him. “Kathy said the attorney’s pitching a fit and ready to leave any minute.”

  “Okay—I’ll stall them,” Tyler decided.

  Payton sighed in frustration. Did she have to spell it out for him?

  “Tyler. You have to take this deposition. Now.”

  He stared at her blankly for a moment, then nodded. “Of course, right. Sure. You said it was a 30(b)(6) deposition?”

  “Yes.”

  Tyler nodded again, then hurried over and pulled his copy of the Federal Rules of Civil Procedure off his shelf. “Um, 30(b)(6) . . . let’s see . . .” He flipped through the pages. “Okay—here it is.”

  Payton stared at him, appalled. “Good god, boy—have you never taken a 30(b)(6) deposition?”

  Tyler paused his skimming to peer up at her. “Wow, you just sounded exactly like J.D. right then.”

  Payton scowled. As if.

  Seeing her expression, Tyler answered quickly. “I think I may have sat in on a 30(b)(6) dep when I was a summer associate.” He looked at her questioningly. “Is that the one where you designate someone to testify as an agent of the corporation?”

  Payton rolled her eyes. Were they teaching these kids nothing nowadays?

  “Tyler—this is kind of a big deal,” she said. “These 30(b)(6) depositions can be tricky. The witnesses are usually very well prepared, since everything they say can be held against the company.”

  Tyler looked her over. “So you’ve done this before?”

  Payton snorted. Was the Pope German? “Uh . . . yes.”

  “So, you could take this dep?”

  “Like a champ. But.” She gave Tyler a pointed look. He stared back at her with those little I’m-just-a-sixth-year-associate lost eyes.

  Payton spoke cautiously. “You are aware of the situation between J.D. and myself, are you not?”

  “I am aware of it, yes.”

  So he knew what he was asking of her, Payton thought. She continued to stare at Tyler.

  He never blinked once.

  After a moment, Payton spoke.

  “He wouldn’t do it for me.”

  Tyler cocked his head, interested. “Is that what matters to you?”

  Payton flung her hair back, deciding to ignore that question. “Fine,” she told Tyler through gritted teeth. “I’ll do it.”

  She held up a finger. “But you are going to help me. Go upstairs and tell the lawyer and his client that we apologize for the delay, but that everything has been straightened out and the deposition will begin in five minutes. Introduce yourself, and in turn, make sure you get the lawyer’s name. Then come back here and run a quick search in Martindale-Hubbell and on LexisNexis—find any noteworthy cases he’s handled, major clients, et cetera. I won’t have time to review everything before the deposition starts, but I’ll call you during our first break and you can give me the highlights. Okay?”

  Tyler nodded affirmatively. “Got it.”

  With that, Payton left his office and headed down the hall to talk to J.D.’s secretary.

  “Kathy—I’ll need whatever files J.D. has for this deposition,” she said as soon as she got to his secretary’s desk. “Do you know if he prepares outlines for his deps? If you can’t find a copy in the files, run a search on his computer.”

  Kathy flew out of her chair, extremely relieved. “Does this mean you can cover the deposition? Oh, thank goodness, Payton. I’ll get you that stuff right away. Yes, J.D. does prepare outlines for his deps, and I know right where I can find it . . .”

  As Kathy hurried off, Payton headed to her own office. Irma glanced up curiously as she passed by.

  “Change of heart?” she asked. “What happened to Tyler?”

  “Never send a boy to do a woman’s job, Irma.”

  Payton winked at her secretary, then disappeared into her office to get her game face on.

  ALL THINGS CONSIDERED, the deposition went pretty damn well. Payton attributed this to the fact that she had seriously mad skills as a lawyer.

  And maybe just the teensiest bit to the fact that J.D. had prepared a very thorough deposition outline that set forth virtually every question she needed to ask.

  Despite the extremely late notice, Payton found it not difficult at all to step in—along with the outline, J.D. had prepared his exhibits in advance and had organized them sequentially. Sure, some minor deviations from the outline were sporadically necessary to clarify something the witness said. But other than that, she found J.D.’s preparation and strategy to be very much in line with what hers would have been had it been her own case. She even managed—despite the delay in starting—to finish the deposition by four thirty, something J.D. apparently had promised the lawyer so that he and the witness could make their six o’clock flight back to New York.

  “Thank you for being so accommodating, Ms. Kendall,” the lawyer said to Payton after she had concluded the deposition. He had become far more friendly once the deposition had begun and the complimentary popcorn and cookies had arrived.

  “No problem, Mr. Werner,” Payton said, shaking his hand in farewell. “J.D. will be in touch with you to discuss the schedule for the remaining depositions. Once again, I know he’s very sorry for all the confusion this afternoon. Unfortunately, Judge Pearson didn’t leave him much choice.”

  Payton and Werner shared a sympathetic chuckle. It never failed: lawyers could always at least find common ground in griping about the oft-orneriness of judges.

  After the lawyer and his client left, Payton began to pack up J.D.’s files, being careful to keep them organized in the way she had foun
d them. She asked the court reporter to email her a copy of the real-time transcript, figuring she could forward that to J.D. right away.

  When she finished, Payton took a seat and proudly propped her feet up on the chair across from her. Not a bad bit of lawyering she had pulled off today, if she did say so herself.

  She spotted the tray of cookies left over from the deposition. What the hell? She certainly had earned a treat. She checked out the selection and picked out a double chocolate chip. She grabbed the cookie and was just about to bite in when—

  “What have you done?”

  At the sound of the voice, Payton froze, mouth open. Cookie midair.

  She turned and saw J.D. standing in the doorway.

  “How bad is it?” he asked in a gravely serious tone.

  Payton took a bite of the cookie. She chewed deliberately, taking her time, then cocked her head. “Actually, it’s quite tasty.”

  J.D. stepped into the room. It was then that Payton noticed how frazzled he looked. Which was particularly striking, because J. D. Jameson never looked frazzled. His hair was uncharacteristically mussed and he seemed out of breath, as if he had run over right after finishing his court hearing.

  Payton sympathized. She knew how tough his day must’ve been—she’d had a few of those days herself. For a moment, she almost felt bad for J.D.

  Too bad the moment didn’t last.

  “Ah, there’s that quintessential Kendall sarcasm,” J.D. said. “All right—lay it on me. What did you do? Make obscene statements on the record? Feign a stutter? Ask the witness the same question five hundred times?”

  “No,” Payton told him. Although she made a mental note for future reference—those were not half-bad ideas.

  “No, of course not.” J.D. scowled. “You would never do anything that would harm your own reputation. Whatever you did to undermine me would have to be much more subtle.”

  He looked around the room. His voice had an edge as he fired questions at her. “Where are Werner and the witness? They’ve left? You finished that quickly, huh? Well, forget it—I’m bringing them back here. I want to reopen this deposition and fix whatever mess you made.”

  Payton stood up and straightened her jacket.

  “Sorry, J.D., I’m afraid you’re stuck with my mess. Rule 30(c) of the Federal Rules of Civil Procedure: examination of the witness shall proceed as if at trial. That means only one attorney can question the witness. Didn’t they teach you that at Har-vard?” she drawled sarcastically.

  “Yes, they taught me that at Har-vard,” J.D. said dryly. He folded his arms across his chest and peered down at her. “I want to see the transcript. Immediately.”

  Payton glared at him. So this was the thanks she got for helping him. She didn’t know why she was surprised.

  “No problem,” she said. She grabbed her briefcase and pulled out her laptop computer. As J.D. stood there, glowering down at her, arms folded across his chest, Payton opened up her email and found the real-time transcript the court reporter had just sent her. She quickly forwarded it to J.D.

  “There,” she said. She snapped her laptop shut and threw it back into her briefcase. She stood again to face J.D. “Was that immediate enough for you?”

  His eyes flickered, and for a second, he seemed to pause.

  “Yes,” he said tersely.

  “Good.” Payton slung her briefcase over her shoulder and headed toward the door. “Your files are all there—I put them back in the same order you had them. And Werner wants you to call him tomorrow to talk about the remaining depositions you need to schedule. Enjoy your transcript, J.D.”

  With that parting thought, she walked out of the conference room. Furious. With herself, mostly.

  For ever having thought that their conversation would’ve been anything different.

  Fifteen

  J.D. RANG THE buzzer a second time.

  When she still didn’t answer, he rechecked the address he had pulled up on his BlackBerry. According to the firm directory, he was at the right place.

  The upstairs lights of the two-flat were on, so presumably somebody was home. A thought occurred to J.D. then, the same one he’d had after the dinner with Jasper and the Gibson’s team: maybe she doesn’t live alone. The buzzer and mailbox provided no clues to this.

  Earlier, after Payton had stormed out of the conference room, J.D. had immediately headed down to his office and pulled up the deposition transcript she had emailed him. He had feverishly dove in, expecting the worst. As his reading progressed, he continued, tensely waiting to find the twist, the screw she put to him, something. Anything.

  But.

  What he had discovered instead was . . . nothing. No tricks. Unless one counted the trick Payton had pulled off in managing to take a pretty damn good 30(b)(6) deposition on about thirty seconds’ notice. Sure there were a few minor things, a few lines of questioning with which J.D. might have taken a slightly different approach, or maybe not—but nevertheless, all he could think was—

  Wow.

  And just when he thought he couldn’t feel more like a jackass, Tyler called and filled him in on everything.

  And thus, J.D. found himself here, on Payton’s doorstep.

  Standing aimlessly on her front stoop with nothing else to do, he looked around, checking out the neighborhood. There were several row houses on the block, including the one that presumably belonged to her. The tree-lined street had a quaint yet urban feel to it.

  He liked it. Not as much as his downtown high-rise condo with a view of the lake, of course, but he found it an acceptable place to leave the Bentley parked on the street. And for J.D., that was saying a lot.

  He pushed the button on the intercom again. Third time’s the charm, they always say, which was good, because given the circumstances, charm was something he definitely need—

  “Hello?”

  The voice—Payton’s—came crackling loudly through the intercom, momentarily surprising him. She sounded annoyed. And he hadn’t even spoken yet.

  J.D. cleared his throat and pushed the button on the intercom.

  “Uh, Payton, hi. It’s J.D.”

  Dead silence.

  Then another crackle.

  “Sorry. Not interested.”

  Cute. But J.D. persisted. Again with the button.

  “I want to talk to you.”

  Crackle.

  “Ever hear of a telephone, asshole?”

  Okay, he probably deserved that.

  Button.

  “Listen, I’ve been standing out here for fifteen minutes. What took you so long to answer?”

  Crackle.

  (Annoyed sigh.) “I was about to get in the shower.”

  J.D. raised an eyebrow. The shower? Hmm . . . he liked the sound of that. Wait a second—no, he didn’t.

  Bad J.D.

  Button.

  “I read the deposition transcript.”

  Crackle.

  “Good for you.”

  She certainly wasn’t making this easy. But he had expected that.

  Buzzer.

  “Payton,” J.D. said in an earnest tone, “I would like to say this in person. Please.”

  Silence. He could practically hear her debating.

  Then the buzzer rang, unlocking the front door. J.D. dove to beat the buzzer before she changed her mind, and let himself in.

  PAYTON’S EYES QUICKLY scanned her front room and kitchen, making sure they were presentable. Not that it mattered, because (a) it was The Shithead and (b) he wasn’t staying. Her apartment was her sanctuary, which meant 100 percent J.D.-free.

  She opened her front door, thinking she’d catch him on the stairs and cut him off at the pass. But instead, she found him already standing there. The quick way she threw open the door caught him off guard.

  With one hand on the door frame and the other on her hip, Payton glared at him. “Whatever you have to say, say it quickly. I’ve had a long day.”

  Recovering from his momentary surprise, J.D.
looked her over. “That’s a little abrupt. Can I come in?”

  “No.”

  “Great. Thanks.”

  He brushed by Payton and stepped into her apartment.

  Payton huffed. Oh. Well. Apparently she had no choice in the matter. She shut the door behind him and watched as he looked around curiously.

  “So this is where you live,” he said as if fascinated, a man who’d snuck into the enemy’s camp. “Nice space. Looks like you get a lot of light.” He glanced over. “Just you?”

  Payton nodded. “Yes. Look, whatever you—”

  “Can I have something to drink?” he interrupted her. “A glass of water would be fine. I came here straight from work.”

  At first, Payton said nothing. She simply stared at him, wondering what the hell he was up to.

  “I’m a bit parched,” he added.

  She thought she saw the faintest trace of a smile on his lips. Was he trying to be cute? Or perhaps he was just stalling.

  “Fine.” She sighed. Reluctantly, she turned to head into the kitchen.

  “Perrier, if you have it.”

  Payton threw an evil eye over her shoulder.

  J.D. grinned. “Just kidding.”

  Definitely trying to be cute.

  Whatever.

  Ignoring him, Payton went and got his glass of water. It was weird, him being there in her apartment. It felt . . . personal. She felt oddly jumpy. Skittish.

  After unenthusiastically filling a glass with tepidly warm tap water, she went back out into the front room. The room was divided by a wall of built-in bookshelves—one of the few things from the original design she hadn’t changed after buying the place—and she found J.D. there, looking at her collection of books.

  As he leaned over to check out the lower shelf, Payton noticed for the first time that he wasn’t wearing a suit jacket. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up around his forearms, his tie loosened, and his hair had a casual, raked-through look.

  This is what he looks like when he comes home from work, Payton thought. She caught herself wondering if there was someone he came home to.