Page 15 of Ask for Moore
“To me, it is,” Waverly mumbled as she hurried to the door, giving us an awkward wave before she left.
Ivy slumped in her chair. “Darn, I think I made her uncomfortable.”
“I don’t think she’s used to your level of friendliness.”
“I bet she’d be a tough nut to crack, but it’s the quiet ones you have to look out for.” She wagged her brows. “If you know what I mean.”
I would have laughed at Ivy’s ridiculousness, but I didn’t want to encourage her. Instead, I crossed my arms against my chest and asked, “And how is it that you know?”
She shrugged with a grin. “Not from personal experience. It’s just something my grandpa used to say.”
I had a feeling he was right when it came to Waverly—still waters ran deep in her. And I found myself parched for a taste of them.
8
Waverly
Ryland had been correct about how swiftly the local court moved. He filed his motion to dismiss on Monday—handing me a copy when I bumped into him at Leaves & Pages that morning—and we were facing off in front of a judge only two days later.
My client was waiting in the hallway outside the courtroom when I arrived, and he hurried over to me. “I talked to Bradley this morning. He agreed with what you said about the hearing today.”
I still hadn’t gotten used to my client referring to Mr. Arnoult by his first name. He did it as a reminder of the power he held over me as an important client of our firm, the same way he continued to call the named partner with questions even though we had met face-to-face multiple times and he had all of my contact information.
“Yes, sir. As I previously explained, Mr. Sanderson’s attorney filing a motion to dismiss is to be expected. It’s the standard response to our suit, and I am fully prepared to argue the multitude of reasons your case has merit.”
“It better not get thrown out,” he muttered with a scowl. “The planning commission hasn’t done a damn thing yet, and I bet they’re gonna try to drag their heels on this. I wouldn’t be surprised if they think they can wait me out, and I’ll back down when I get distracted by another project.”
“The commission is well within their rights to use the full twenty days to respond to our complaint,” I reminded him. “That case is much more complicated, and government lawyers tend to use red tape to their benefit.”
“Time is money, Miss Duncan.” He tapped the Rolex strapped to his beefy wrist. “The longer it takes to get that plat approval, the less I’m going to make on my subdivision.”
Talking to my client sometimes felt as though I was trying to speak to a brick wall. If I said something he didn’t like, he ignored me. Or even worse, he called my boss. I had already known that Mr. Arnoult was only willing to dangle the carrot of a partnership at me because there was little risk that he’d need to follow through. And if by some miracle, Mr. Burkhart decided to move all of his business to the firm, it would be a hollow victory because I would then need to deal with him on a regular basis.
“I’ll do my best,” I murmured noncommittedly, resisting the urge to remind him of what I’d told him just yesterday—that the lawyer representing the planning commission and their members very well could request additional time to respond to our claim. And they would be granted that time since upon written notice, the Herbert County Court allowed for an automatic additional thirty days to respond. I was dismayed when I discovered that rule and worried if it would mean that I would be stuck in Mooreville for much longer than expected if the cases didn’t run concurrently. With my luck, I would finish wrapping up the suit against Mr. Sanderson the day before the first time we were due to be in court for the complaint against the planning commission. “But for now, let’s focus on the hearing that’s due to start any minute.”
“For what I’m paying your firm, you better kick that shyster’s ass in there,” he grumbled.
Ryland had been nothing but kind to me, so I wasn’t a fan of how my client continuously used derogatory terms to describe him. Pressing my lips together to hold back a rebuke, I turned on my heel to head into the courtroom. Luckily, he quieted down. Since he had been in court plenty of times, I hoped like heck he would behave himself.
The last thing I needed was for him to earn the ire of the judge by being a pompous blowhard. It was already going to be hard enough to plead his case when the merits of our claim were paper thin. Not to mention, we were both outsiders, and small communities tended to be insular. We were fighting an uphill battle on this case.
As the first case of the morning, I led Mr. Burkhart to the plaintiff’s table across from the judge’s bench. Pulling my file, notepad, and pen out of my briefcase, I heard the deep murmur of Ryland’s voice before I saw him. I wanted to turn and crane my neck to stare at him, but I forced myself to remain facing forward until he was seated at the defendant’s table.
Shifting in my seat, I inclined my head in greeting. “Good morning, Mr. Moore.”
The man seated next to him shot me a curious glance before glaring at my client.
“It’s nice to see you again, Miss Duncan.” He leaned back in his chair with a sexy grin as he fiddled with the pair of glasses that he’d set on the table next to his notepad. I really wished I hadn’t asked him about them, but I had been shocked that he somehow managed to look even hotter with glasses on than off. “Too bad it isn’t under better circumstances.”
I cursed my pale complexion as I felt my cheeks heat. I didn’t need Mr. Burkhart to decide I was acting like a young girl with a crush on the opposing counsel. He’d go running to my boss about that, for sure.
I wanted to do a fist pump when the bailiff called, “All rise, the Herbert County Court of common pleas is now in session. The Honorable Judge Wilson presiding.”
During the week that I’d been in Mooreville, I had done some research on the judges who might be assigned the case. I couldn’t attain the familiarity that Ryland had with them in such a short time, but I wanted to at least be cognizant of how they tended to rule so I could adjust my game plan accordingly.
From what I’d found while combing through the county court dockets for the past several months, Judge Wilson was who I’d been hoping would be assigned to this case. She was pro-business and more likely to respond well to my arguments than the other judges.
We went through the normal court procedures, with Ryland and I introducing ourselves as counsel for our clients before being seated. Although I knew Ryland had the advantage of being local, my throat felt constricted when Judge Wilson greeted him familiarly. Mr. Burkhart muttered something beneath his breath, and I shook my head at him with a glare. He quieted down when the judge asked, “I understand there’s a motion to dismiss before me today?”
