CHAPTER TWELVE
CHRISTIAN
Present
“Arya Roth must be good in bed, because she sure knows how to screw with a narrative.” Claire ricocheted a newspaper onto my office desk Monday morning.
I was neck deep in going through the documents Amanda Gispen had sent me over the weekend. The discovery stage was crucial for an ironclad case. I knew Conrad’s lawyers were going to file a motion in limine to keep the EEOC’s determination letter out of the case. I’d been so wrapped up in the material over the weekend that Claire and I had gone through the evidence instead of engaging in a screw-fest like we’d planned. The only thing I was in the mood for screwing was the Roth family, and hard.
I glanced at the newspaper’s headline, frowning, while Claire parked a hip against my desk, hovering over me. In the photo in front of me, Conrad Roth was seen hugging kids at a hospital. Apparently, he’d gifted each of them a brand-new gaming console, from the variety most mortals couldn’t get their hands on.
. . . Roth has donated 1,500 GameDrop consoles to the Don Hawkins Children’s Hospital, along with a generous $2 million donation . . .
“This is bullshit.” I rolled up the newspaper and slam-dunked it into the trash next to me. Claire pulled out her phone and swiped her finger across the screen.
“There are three more positive items about Conrad Roth running on various news sites today. The hashtag #NoRothDoing is trending on Twitter. Ex-colleagues are coming forward and talking about how nice and professional he is. Women of power. Arya Roth is working extra hard on Daddy’s image.”
Arya’s name alone made me break out in hives. The woman didn’t just manage to get under my skin; she dug her way into my gut and lit a bonfire there.
“#NoRothDoing is the stupidest hashtag I’ve ever heard, and unfortunately, I’ve heard many.”
“I happen to agree, but it’s working.” Claire sighed. “What are we going to do?”
“Nothing.” I shrugged. “I’ll do my talking in the courtroom, in front of a jury that actually makes a difference. Internet trolls are not my target audience.”
“Should we be more tactical about this? Maybe scare her a little?” Claire perched her ass on the edge of my desk, folding her arms. I rolled my executive chair back, putting some space between us. Claire was a gorgeous, ambitious, well-off twenty-seven-year-old. But she was starting to become a liability, wanting things like weekends away and for me to meet her parents. I’d laid out the rules when we’d started sleeping together, explaining I was so deep in the playboy zone I couldn’t find my way out of it into a healthy relationship with a map, a flashlight, and GPS. She’d said she understood, and maybe she had, once upon a time, but things were getting complicated, which meant I was days away from breaking things off.
“You want me to start talking to B-grade journalists? Because prejudicing the defendant is third-grade tactics.”
“I’m saying Arya Roth is undermining our case.”
“No. She is sweating, and it smells. I’m not worried about her.”
But Claire wasn’t completely wrong. As I skimmed through one of the articles on her phone, I realized I should’ve taken into consideration that Arya was still cunning, resourceful, and—most maddening of all—talented at what she did. By the time the news about Conrad Roth’s sexual harassment case had broken, Arya had found a hundred different ways to spin it. She used all the dirty tricks too. Amanda Gispen was recently divorced. Her ex-husband had been cheating on her, it was claimed. Arya had portrayed Amanda as a man-hater. Bitter about her divorce, her ex-husband, and the opposite sex in general. Amanda had recently fallen behind on her mortgage—obviously due to the divorce. Now tabloids were speculating she was going after her ex-employer to try to make a quick buck. Which couldn’t be further from the truth, as Conrad had offered her more than enough to cover seven hundred mortgages to not take the case to court.
Arya was thorough and persistent, and she worked twenty-four seven.
Unfortunately for her, so did I.
“Claire’s right.” Traurig’s low tenor came from the door. Claire stood up promptly, smoothing her pencil skirt. Traurig pushed off my doorframe, pretending like he didn’t see her channeling her inner Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct. “Ms. Roth may pose an issue. You should keep an eye on her. Media coverage is everything. You should know that, kiddo. You won that case at the DA’s office because you were the tabloid’s darling.”
My jaw ticced. More than Arya was undermining my case, Traurig was undermining my prestige by calling me kiddo. He wouldn’t subject Claire to the same nickname, no. That would be viewed as sexist. But I was another alpha male whom he wanted to put in his place.