Confessions of a Litigation God

Good. She’s choosing to fight me so I’m assured I won’t drown in guilt for what I’m about to say. “Word choices in a legal document can make or break a case. You could sink an entire claim with just one poorly chosen word. It’s a lesson you desperately need, and I’m going to make sure you learn it. Furthermore, you are never to question my opinions on your work again. ”

Mac’s face turns scarlet, and I can tell she wants to lay in to me. Standing up from her chair, she places her palms on my desk with one hand still clinging to the document, and leans in toward me, snarling, “You are being completely unfair. You’re taking your anger out on me when it’s not deserved. ”

Shooting out of my chair, I place my palms opposite of hers on the desk, and do my own brand of threatening maneuver by leaning in toward her. I keep my voice mild though, just to actually dig the knife in more. If she thinks this isn’t personal, but truly my professional opinion, the sting will be more exquisite. “I’m not taking my anger out on you. I’m telling you that your work product is poor. Learn the difference. ”

Mac’s eyes fill with rage, turning those green irises dark as a midnight jungle. Her voice rises perilously close to a shriek. “This is not poor work product. This is you, desperately trying to find some fault with my work so you can punish me. ”

“Punish you?” I say with derision as I pull the document out of her hand. “Why would I possibly do that?”

“Because I cut you off, and you can’t handle the rejection,” she jeers at me.

I throw my head back and laugh mockingly at her, even though she’s f**king hitting the nail on the head. My eyes spark with malice when I look back at her. “Get over yourself, Mac. You were replaced and forgotten just like that. ”

I even snap my fingers so she understands just how quickly I got over her.

Well, supposedly got over her.

She’ll never know I’m without direction, utterly lost.

Tears glisten in Mac’s eyes and she practically hisses at me as she grabs the document back out of my hand. “I can’t take this shit anymore. I did nothing to deserve this. ”

Nothing to deserve this?

All of this… all of my rage, and hurt, and out-of-control behavior is all because of her. Indignation burns deep in my stomach.

Mac spins away from me and heads for my door. It takes a nanosecond for me to react, rounding my desk in three long strides before I have her by the elbow and I’m turning her toward me.

Pulling her in close so I’m almost nose to nose with her, I yell without giving a f**k if anyone hears me. “You did nothing to deserve this? You f**king denied me. ”

All of the anger in Mac’s eyes dies down immediately, not even a quiet, simmering annoyance remains. Instead, her eyes go soft and she looks at me in understanding… maybe sympathy. It makes my stomach knot up.

Her voice is so very quiet… almost a whisper. “I denied you nothing, Matt. I simply asked for more. ”

Her words slam into me, and I feel like someone has taken a sledgehammer and driven it into the center of my chest. The pain that shoots through me is so intense that I get dizzy for a moment and drop her elbow.

I lower my gaze from her face, because I don’t think I can stand to look at the woman who inherently understands me, even when I don’t understand myself.

The woman who feels sorry for me, because I’m incapable of moving past my bitterness.

I’m a f**king loser, and she knows it.

My shoulders drop, and I feel so very f**king tired all of a sudden. Turning from Mac, I walk back to my desk… watching where I’m walking but not really seeing anything. I fall back into my chair and stare blankly at my computer.

Mac starts to move toward me, and that shakes me from my stupor briefly.

“Get out,” I say quietly, without malice, without feeling really anything at all. “I want another draft of those Answers by the end of the day. ”

Mac takes a step toward me, and my gaze comes up. I see her, but for the first time in a long time, I’m not dazzled by her.

I’m afraid of her.

Because without really knowing anything about me at all… about my demons or what makes me tick… she absolutely knows what to say to break me down.

“Matt… I’m sorry you’re hurting,” she says gently. “I am, too. Maybe if we talked this out, we could figure—”

It’s like thick concrete builds up around me, fashioning hard and without yield. “There’s nothing to talk about. Now leave. ”

“Please,” she begs, eyes pleading, taking another small step toward me. “I want to make this better—”

Mac’s kindness… her sympathy… the way she understands me… it’s overbearing and pain starts to fill me up. I feel the last vestiges of my control snap, and I lash out before she can say anything that cuts into my vulnerability further.

“You want to make this better?” I lurch out of my chair and grab ahold of my belt buckle. “The only way you can make this better, Miss Dawson, is if you get over here on your knees. ”

Her eyes… the ones I’ve stared into over and over again, fill with tears, and it knocks the breath clean out of me.

“You’re despicable,” she says. My hands drop from my belt, and my head hangs in shame.

Mac turns away from me, head held high, and walks to my door.

Sadness, misery, and panic flood through me. I couldn’t stop the words a moment ago, and now I don’t know what to say to make this better. I only know that I can’t let her walk out of here hurting like that.

“Mac,” I call out to her.