Christian and Amanda Gispen walked in fifteen minutes later. By then, the meeting was running almost an hour late. I glanced at the time on my phone. Jillian and I had an appointment with a potential client in Brooklyn in less than two hours. Between the rain and traffic, there was no way I was going to make it on time.
“Apologies for the delay. Ms. Gispen and I had to go over the premediation statements one more time.” Christian’s smirk was so dazzling, so good natured, there was absolutely zero chance the man wasn’t in need of deep, lengthy psychological treatment. Who took such pleasure in dealing with a sexual harassment case? Even a bogus one? A lawyer. That was who. My father had warned me about them. Lawyers, not psychopaths—though both should be avoided, if possible. As someone who’d had to deal with plenty of lawyers in his lifetime, he had nothing but bad things to say about them. Conrad Roth was of the school that believed the fine line running between lawyers and criminals was opportunity and a scholarship. He detested lawyers with a passion. I was quickly coming to understand why.
“That’s absolutely fine, Christian, my dear.” The mediator patted his arm warmly. Well, crap. He already had the advantage of being well loved and respected. Amanda Gispen and Claire Lesavoy were also ogling him adoringly.
Christian sat directly in front of me. I kept my eyes on Amanda, whom I’d known my entire life. Blinking in disbelief, I tried to reconcile the person I’d grown up with and the woman in front of me. It was hard to digest that she was the lady who’d slipped cookies to my kid self when I’d hidden behind her desk on days Dad had taken me to work. She was the one who’d given me a book about the birds and the bees when I was twelve because my mother had treated my sexuality like a unicorn that would never arrive. The very same person sitting here, demanding Dad pay for something he hadn’t done.
The mediator began with a short presentation of what could be expected during the process. I chanced a glance at Dad, who looked pale and a little seasick. My father had always been larger than life. Seeing him like this was shattering. When we’d first gotten the call about Amanda taking legal action, my mother’s response had been odd, to say the least. I’d expected door slamming, shouts, and a theatrical production. Instead, she’d received the news with quiet resignation. She’d refused to discuss the subject again and, of course, booked a two-week retreat in the Bahamas to get away from it all. She’d never really been a partner to him or a mother to me.
Dad needed me. Now more than ever.
I slipped my hand in his under the desk and pressed.
“I got you,” I whispered.
When I looked back ahead, I noticed Christian watching our exchange, his jaw twitching.
What the hell is his problem now?
The mediator finished explaining the procedure.
“Let the record show we are entirely unimpressed with your method of mind games, namely showing up an hour late.” Louie scribbled something on the margin of the document in front of him, referring to Christian.
“Let the record show I don’t give two shits what you think about me,” Christian responded, making all the gazes in the room snap to him.
Dad’s jaw slacked. Amanda turned to look at Christian, her face marred by horror. Even Claire looked a little pale. Christian seemed to miss the social cues, settling comfortably in his seat. “Now, if we may continue.”
Each of the attorneys proceeded to give their statements. The mediator explained we were now going to offer a settlement and discuss it privately in different rooms. Dad had told me he wasn’t going to rebut Amanda’s complaint, upon his counselors’ advice. Louie and Terrance thought it could make Amanda strike even harder. I wasn’t happy about it, but I also knew nothing about sexual harassment cases and just wanted to get it over with. From the PR side, I knew the right thing and the correct thing weren’t always the same thing. The correct thing would be to make this go away quietly, even if you had to swallow your pride and pay a crook like Amanda.
An hour later, it was obvious I wasn’t going to make it to the meeting with Jillian. Any ballpark number Louie and Terrance came up with and handed the mediator was rejected on the spot by a solemn Christian Miller before he even dragged his client to a private room to discuss it. Dad’s back curled forward like a shrimp. He shook his head and closed his eyes in disbelief. We were getting nowhere fast.
“I don’t understand any of this,” Dad told me, pale as a ghost. “What is she trying to achieve? If we take it to court, everyone is going to get hurt. She must know that.”