Helping her with her complicated medical malpractice case seemed to be the most immediate way to stay actively involved in her daily routines. They met at least once daily to discuss their cases, and that one seemed to be growing more complex with each passing hour.
“Dr. Ripley’s attorneys are really starting to rub me the wrong way,” Caitlin muttered on Wednesday afternoon, a week and a day after The Kiss. “They treat me as though I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“I’ve dealt with these guys before, a couple of years ago when I first started out.” Sitting beside her at the paper-littered conference table, Nathan tossed a condescending letter aside. “They treat everyone that way.”
“They’re so obnoxiously confident that we’ll decide to fold. That we’ll be so intimidated by their reputation and resources that we’ll be afraid to take them on in court.”
“They have good reason to expect so,” Nathan said with a shrug. “Few small firms have been successful in challenging them. Face it, Caitlin, we don’t have the same resources. You should know how expensive and time-consuming a medical malpractice case can become, especially against a physician as wealthy and as aggressively represented as Ripley.”
“Are you saying I shouldn’t have taken the case? You know we’re in the right here, Nathan. And you know none of the bigger firms would even talk to poor Mr. Smith.”
“For the very reasons I just mentioned. It’s too tough a case. The outcome is too unpredictable, and the commitment too long-term when you consider all the inevitable maneuvers and appeals.”
“Assuming they don’t agree to a decent settlement before it gets to court.”
He tapped the letter she and her client had found so offensive. “They’ve offered a settlement, remember?”
He fully expected her reaction—a disdainful sniff accompanied by that temperamental flash of silver in her eyes. “It’s not only unacceptable, it’s insulting. Mrs. Smith died.”
“Which she might well have done, even if Ripley hadn’t misdiagnosed her. Her cancer was already well advanced.”
Even though she knew it was his job to point out all the counterarguments, her eyes still flashed again. “At least she’d have had a chance. Ripley took that away from her when he brushed her off as a hypochondriac and prescribed sedatives instead of medical tests. The guy has a nasty habit of assuming most women’s ailments can be treated with antidepressants. She isn’t the first who has had to find another doctor.”
“Hearsay. You’ll have to show proof that he is more likely to misdiagnose women than men. And you’ll need at least one recognized expert to testify that Mrs. Smith’s cancer, if caught earlier, could possibly have been cured. And, finally, you’ll have to convince a jury that Ripley was flagrantly negligent in his treatment of Mrs. Smith and not honestly misguided by her atypical symptoms.”
“We have two women—acquaintances of the Smiths—who came forward and claimed Dr. Ripley treated them for depression when they really had something else. And a former employee—a nurse—who says she left because she didn’t like his attitude toward his female clients.”
“I’ve read their statements. There’s reason to believe that at least one of those former patients did suffer depression, in addition to the neurological disease that was diagnosed later. And you can bet Ripley has evidence to support his claim that the nurse is a disgruntled former employee with an ax to grind against him.”
Her voice was terse now. “You’re saying you wouldn’t have taken the case? That you think it’s as hopeless as all those other firms did?”
He just loved it when she got that righteous-crusader-for-justice look on her face. He smiled and draped an arm around her shoulders. “I didn’t say that. You’ve got a hell of a fight ahead of you, but you aren’t alone. You have my full support. I think we can get a better offer from these jerks.”
It was probably her relief at his encouragement that made her smile at him before she remembered to react to having his arm around her. She shifted her weight in an attempt to move away. He promptly tightened his arm.
“Nathan.” There was a warning in her voice that he chose to ignore.
“I’ve missed you this past week,” he murmured, looking at her sternly set mouth. “We’ve hardly had a minute to be alone together.”
“This isn’t that minute.” She scooted a couple of inches sideways, but he simply moved with her, keeping her within the ci
rcle of his arm. “Nathan, stop it. Someone could walk in at any time. They could get the mistaken idea that something is going on between us.”
As far as he was concerned, something was going on between them. As far as certain parts of him were concerned, it wasn’t nearly enough.
“Have dinner with me tonight. Just the two of us.”
She shook her head. “You need to be with Isabelle.”
“I’ve been with Isabelle every night for the past two weeks. She won’t mind spending a few extra hours with Mrs. T. Isabelle has become very fond of her.”
“I still don’t think it’s a good idea.”
“You have other plans?”
She hesitated just long enough to let him know she didn’t. Caitlin wasn’t the type to make use of expedient lies. “No. But I still have to decline. I told you last week that I don’t want to get entangled in a potentially awkward personal involvement with my business partner.”
He touched a fingertip to her lower lip. “Are you sure it isn’t already too late for that? Because as far as I’m concerned, there’s already a potentially awkward personal involvement. I can’t turn off my feelings for you just because you don’t consider this a convenient time.”