Page 11 of Ask for Moore
Watching her ass—perfectly displayed in yet another tight as fuck pencil skirt—as she walked out of my office was unprofessional, but I couldn’t tear my gaze away. Something Ivy didn’t miss when I followed Waverly into the reception area.
At least she waited until Waverly was gone to say, “You are in so much trouble.”
Truer words had never been said.
6
Waverly
As soon as the door closed behind me, I fanned myself. It was only fifty degrees outside, but my meeting with Ryland had left me feeling flustered. Not because I thought I wasn’t up for the challenge of facing off against him in court. I had supreme faith in my abilities when it came to work. But every once in a while, I had detected a flirtatious vibe from him and I wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Or if I was imagining things since he already had a woman named Ivy in his life.
I’d been asked on dates by plenty of lawyers, including ones who I’d beaten in court. I had never been tempted to accept any of their offers. Ryland hadn’t talked about anything other than the case, but I still found myself wondering what it would be like to go out for dinner with him. Or lunch. Even just another tea.
I never allowed anything to distract me from my goals, and I couldn’t start now. Not with Ryland, and especially not when a partnership was nearly within my grasp. Or without knowing if he was even available—which was something I shouldn’t be wondering about since he was my opposing counsel.
Forcing my attention back to my client, I headed to my rental car and plugged in the address to the property he had purchased. During the twenty-five-minute drive across the county, my thoughts continued to drift toward Ryland. Each time, I used every ounce of my willpower to bring them back around to the upcoming appointment with Roger Burkhart.
I hadn’t been overly impressed with my client when I met with him yesterday. He had struck me as an overly loud blowhard who liked to use his money to push people around to get what he wanted.
His desire to file suit against Martin Sanderson confirmed my impression. The man hadn’t misrepresented his property, but that wouldn’t stop my client from going after him in the hope that his friend and cousin on the planning commission would rethink their position.
As I neared my destination, I carefully passed two tractors on the road. It was a novel experience for me since you didn’t often—or ever—find farm equipment on the streets of Chicago. Growing up in the city, I had never had the opportunity to visit a farm before. I’d only seen them portrayed in movies and television shows.
The Sanderson farm was much bigger than I expected, although I supposed it made sense considering the seven-figure price my client had paid for the property. The large red barn looked as though it had leaped off the pages of a children’s book, and the three-story house was a gorgeous log cabin. It was picture perfect, except for the fact that the fields looked barren, which was sad, considering how long the previous owner’s family had cultivated the land.
Although Burkhart Development didn’t have permission to move forward with the project, several construction trucks were parked in front of the house when I pulled up. With a company that employed more than seven hundred people, Mr. Burkhart could apparently spare some for a project that was currently in limbo.
Of course, they were all men. And most of them stared as I exited my vehicle and walked toward my client. Not that I could necessarily blame the men since I must have been quite a sight plodding across the gravel parking lot in my three-inch suede heels. I would have changed into my gym shoes, but unfortunately, I hadn’t thought to bring them with me. I wouldn’t make the same mistake if Mr. Burkhart insisted upon meeting all the way out here again.
“How did your meeting with that local guy go?” he asked. “Is Sanderson willing to talk to his cronies on that damn commission so I can finally get cracking on this project?”
I shook my head. “Mr. Moore indicated that his client has no control over decisions made by the commission.”
“Bullshit.” Mr. Burkhart rolled his eyes and shifted his attention to the guy he’d been speaking with when I walked up. “This shyster thinks he’s a big fish, but only because he’s in a small pond. One that’s named after his family, for fuck’s sake, so he’s gotta be plugged into the political machine down here. If he wanted to do Sanderson a favor, he could probably make one damn phone call and get me my permit. But no, we’re gonna have to take the guy to court to get them to play fair.”
I disagreed with pretty much everything my client said—except maybe the part about Ryland having connections. Pasting an impassive expression on my face, I kept my mouth shut. Correcting someone like Roger Burkhart would do me no favors, especially in front of other people.
Turning back to me, he asked, “You gonna file the paperwork tomorrow?”
“Yes, first thing in the morning when the courthouse opens, along with the case against the county planning commission,” I confirmed.
“Good.” His chest puffed out as he grinned. “And you named each of those smug bastards?”
I nodded. “I did.”
“I wish I could be there when they’re served,” he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. “I bet they’re gonna shit their pants over being held personally responsible for fucking me over.”
Most public officials, even in small towns, were used to the threat of being sued. However, the threat didn’t have teeth because they had immunity with only limited exceptions. “As we previously discussed, I anticipate that the board’s attorney will promptly file a motion seeking to dismiss all individual board members from the suit.”
“I’m not worried about them being dropped.” He waved off my reminder. “Even if the judge agrees with them, the county has the deepest pockets.”
I anticipated their motion would be successful, but it was only the first legal volley of many. And if any of the commissioners decided to countersue with a claim of a frivolous lawsuit, I’ll use the minutes of their meetings against them since several of them had made statements about my client being from out of town. Since defamatory statements can cost government officials their immunity, at the very least, I could argue that Mr. Burkhart was well within his rights to include them on his suit so that the judge could decide if they had been biased against my client.
“I passed a couple of tractors on my way here, and seeing them reminded me of something mentioned in the planning commission’s decision.” I tugged my pad of paper and pen out to take some notes. “How often have you noticed slow-moving agricultural equipment on the roads bordering and running through your land?”
Mr. Burkhart’s employees went about whatever it was they were here to do while we went through his case against the county. My plan was to attack the evidentiary support of the board's findings, in particular related to their issue with the roads.
Once we were done, I asked, “And you’re positive that you don’t want to try arbitration with Mr. Sanderson before proceeding to court?”
