elevator, she only felt a little like collapsing.
The staff of the Marseilles was too discreet to give her rumpled clothing a second look, but still she felt more secure when she was safe in her car again.
I'm me . I'm not who I was when I writhed in bed with him, when he made me feel like I did. I am me. I am a lawyer, and I have a fight ahead of me.
If she said those words often enough, perhaps she would even believe them. She nosed her car onto the freeway, and she knew that it was going to be a long day ahead.
CHAPTER FIVE
A little more than an hour later, Leah was showered and dressed in her most severe silk suit. It was a trick she had learned early in her stay in LA, which was a very West Coast town, perhaps the West Coast town. Everyone, from network execs to producers to lawyers dressed down a bit, as if to bow to the wilting heat and the laid-back atmosphere.
She might have been a willing LA transplant, but she had done a lot of work on the East Coast, where a single button out of place could raise the ire of a conservative judge. Though she could have worn more casual clothes, Leah had a tendency to choose severe black when she was out dealing with clients... or with those who wanted to harm her clients.
Ice Fields was a smaller production company located well away from some of the bigger names. However, that didn't mean much when small production companies might be backed by enormous names. The moment she pulled her car up to the Ice Fields lot, Leah felt a shiver of distaste run through her. She wasn't sure whether it was because of what she knew about them or whether it was because of something else, but she braced herself.
She walked up to the front doors, ignoring the scattering of fashionable and attractive young people in the lobby. She could sense them eying her up and down and immediately dismissing her. She ignored them, focusing on the receptionist behind the desk.
“Good morning,” she said, her tone crisp and carrying. “My name is Leah Montgomery, and I'm here to see Peter Scholl.”
The receptionist looked at her, profoundly unimpressed. “Sorry,” he said. “If you haven't got an appointment, there's—”
“I don't need an appointment,” Leah said confidently. “If I leave here, I'm going to be coming back with an injunction a lot nastier than just a 'please.'”
The receptionist still looked a little hesitant, so Leah smiled, showing her teeth. Her smile was nowhere near as sharp as Zayn's, but she thought that she did all right.
“To put it even more clearly, if you don't let me in to see Peter Scholl, I am going to make trouble for this entire place, and I'm going to do it with all the legal muscle that Hiller and Hiller can give me. Now, if you don't want to be responsible for that...”
The receptionist nodded jerkily, and Leah allowed herself a tight smile as he picked up the phone and turned away from her. She was aware of the starlets behind her muttering about what a bitch she was and how she shouldn't be allowed, but she ignored them. She had far bigger fish to fry.
“Mr. Scholl will see you now,” the receptionist offered.
She smiled at him. “I'm sure he will.”
Scholl's office didn't surprise her at all. From the bright lights of the rest of the building, she entered a long office that was deliberately dim. At the very end of the office was a row of windows, and in front of that window was a desk where a man sat in silhouette.
Pure theater, Leah thought with disgust, and it isn't even very good theater.
“And you must be from Hiller and Hiller,” he began, but Leah didn't wait.
She strode up to the desk, her heels clicking efficiently on the tile. Before she was even stopped, she threw a folder down on the desk in front of him.
“You have some nerve,” she said, “and on top of that, you must think that I'm a goddamn idiot.”
Peter Scholl leaned back in his chair and looked at her. He had a kind of thinness that looked better on an ascetic
The staff of the Marseilles was too discreet to give her rumpled clothing a second look, but still she felt more secure when she was safe in her car again.
I'm me . I'm not who I was when I writhed in bed with him, when he made me feel like I did. I am me. I am a lawyer, and I have a fight ahead of me.
If she said those words often enough, perhaps she would even believe them. She nosed her car onto the freeway, and she knew that it was going to be a long day ahead.
CHAPTER FIVE
A little more than an hour later, Leah was showered and dressed in her most severe silk suit. It was a trick she had learned early in her stay in LA, which was a very West Coast town, perhaps the West Coast town. Everyone, from network execs to producers to lawyers dressed down a bit, as if to bow to the wilting heat and the laid-back atmosphere.
She might have been a willing LA transplant, but she had done a lot of work on the East Coast, where a single button out of place could raise the ire of a conservative judge. Though she could have worn more casual clothes, Leah had a tendency to choose severe black when she was out dealing with clients... or with those who wanted to harm her clients.
Ice Fields was a smaller production company located well away from some of the bigger names. However, that didn't mean much when small production companies might be backed by enormous names. The moment she pulled her car up to the Ice Fields lot, Leah felt a shiver of distaste run through her. She wasn't sure whether it was because of what she knew about them or whether it was because of something else, but she braced herself.
She walked up to the front doors, ignoring the scattering of fashionable and attractive young people in the lobby. She could sense them eying her up and down and immediately dismissing her. She ignored them, focusing on the receptionist behind the desk.
“Good morning,” she said, her tone crisp and carrying. “My name is Leah Montgomery, and I'm here to see Peter Scholl.”
The receptionist looked at her, profoundly unimpressed. “Sorry,” he said. “If you haven't got an appointment, there's—”
“I don't need an appointment,” Leah said confidently. “If I leave here, I'm going to be coming back with an injunction a lot nastier than just a 'please.'”
The receptionist still looked a little hesitant, so Leah smiled, showing her teeth. Her smile was nowhere near as sharp as Zayn's, but she thought that she did all right.
“To put it even more clearly, if you don't let me in to see Peter Scholl, I am going to make trouble for this entire place, and I'm going to do it with all the legal muscle that Hiller and Hiller can give me. Now, if you don't want to be responsible for that...”
The receptionist nodded jerkily, and Leah allowed herself a tight smile as he picked up the phone and turned away from her. She was aware of the starlets behind her muttering about what a bitch she was and how she shouldn't be allowed, but she ignored them. She had far bigger fish to fry.
“Mr. Scholl will see you now,” the receptionist offered.
She smiled at him. “I'm sure he will.”
Scholl's office didn't surprise her at all. From the bright lights of the rest of the building, she entered a long office that was deliberately dim. At the very end of the office was a row of windows, and in front of that window was a desk where a man sat in silhouette.
Pure theater, Leah thought with disgust, and it isn't even very good theater.
“And you must be from Hiller and Hiller,” he began, but Leah didn't wait.
She strode up to the desk, her heels clicking efficiently on the tile. Before she was even stopped, she threw a folder down on the desk in front of him.
“You have some nerve,” she said, “and on top of that, you must think that I'm a goddamn idiot.”
Peter Scholl leaned back in his chair and looked at her. He had a kind of thinness that looked better on an ascetic
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