“Oh, God. That’s foul.” I checked the sell-by date and was shocked to find it was still a week away. “Must’ve been a bad batch,” I mumbled, scouring the refrigerator for something to replace it with. I found Canadian bacon and tossed that out, too. Eventually, I settled on making waffles with a berry compote and eggs. Grant powered into the kitchen with his tie draped around his neck and his face glued to the tablet screen. I grabbed a tangerine from the fruit bowl and tossed it at him. He smirked when he caught it without breaking his focus or stride.
“You’re gonna have to try better than that, darling,” he taunted, tossing it back. I caught it and dropped it into the fruit bowl. I leaned against the island and watched him pour his coffee, keeping it as black as his soul.
“You’re coming to the office with me today.”
I raised a brow.
“I am?”
He nodded, sipping from his mug. “I don’t feel comfortable leaving you home alone until we get security sorted. Eat, dress, and be ready to go in half an hour. We’ll take a late lunch with Granddad.”
“That sounds perfect, actually.”
He hummed in agreement and sat at the island. I fixed my plate, joined him, and picked his brain about the case. Wordlessly, he slid the tablet over, and I read the case notes.
“Say what you want about Casey, but he takes immaculate notes.”
“You are correct. The compote is immaculate, Ki.”
“Thank you, Grant,” I replied, rubbing a hand up and down his thigh as I immersed myself in Casey’s case. “Why is opposing counsel insisting on taking this to court? This is a slam dunk for us.”
The victim, Jasmine O’Dell, was minding her business on a jog when a pack of dogs nearly mauled her to death. The owner of the dogs received prior citations from the city about their aggressive dogs breaking out of his fence and roaming the neighborhood. Animal control had threatened to take the dogs, but the owner agreed to reinforce the fence within 48 hours. A week had passed, and the fence remained unchanged. The victim was admitted to the ICU for two weeks due to her injuries and an infection she contracted. Ms. O’Dell is suing for gross negligence and recklessness, premises liability, PTSD and emotional distress, disfigurement and scarring, medical expenses beyond immediate treatment, loss of enjoyment of life, loss of wages, loss of future earning capacity—the list went on.
“Look who the defendant hired as their attorney.”
I scrolled and refrained from rolling my eyes.
“Really? O’Reilly Justice Group. They’re just running their client’s tab up.”
Every horrible stereotype you knew about attorneys could be applied to O’Reilly. Their fees were outrageous—far above industry standards. They weren’t transparent with their clients about how they conducted business, had a few judges in their pockets, and pushed their clients to go to court to rack up billable hours.
“Bingo.”
I shook my head and continued reading.
“Poor lady. She’ll never be able to use her right arm again.”
“I’m aware.”
“How much do you think you’ll be able to secure her?”
Grant shrugged, wiped his mouth on a napkin, and tossed it on his plate before clearing his place setting.
“Low-end, she’s looking at anywhere from $1.5 to $7 million, and if the jury is being extra generous, then she’s looking at $8 to $20 million.”
I let out a low whistle.
“Are you gonna make Casey split the pot with you since you’re subbing for him?”
“No. He did all of the casework; he deserves it. On another note, I wanted to bring something up to you since you’re woefully unemployed.”
“I’m not unemployed. I’m a stay-at-home wife,” I mumbled around a mouthful of waffle.
Grant smiled and refilled his coffee mug.
“Thank you for the correction, my dear. But since you have more free time than I, do you mind planning the yearly employee wellness trip?”
“No.”
