Chapter 21 Lacey #2
I wanted my employment record to reflect that I’d resigned—not that I was terminated.
I wanted a confidentiality agreement in place so that no one at the Lantana could speak about me, the Acosta incident, or the terms of my separation.
And finally, I wanted a written apology from Dylan Acosta for all the shit he’d put me through, which I knew would never happen, but a girl can dream.
I point to that list now. “What the fuck is going on, Fingers?” I ask him.
“I said what it would take to resolve this case today. They offered me nothing on my list. I do not want to work with Sergio Lantana someplace else. Why? So he can fire me from there after this matter is resolved? I sure as hell don’t want to move to Pensacola. ”
Fingers looks around at the no smoking sign on the wall for what must be the seven millionth time today.
“Fuck it,” he says, then pulls out his pack and lights up.
He takes one drag, then pinches the end to put it out.
“Smoke detectors in these places,” he explains.
Then he gets up and paces the floor. “We’re almost done here,” he says.
“They are throwing out desperation offers, trying to get you to take something they want to give before they have to give in and eat shit.”
He stops at the doorway and peeks out. Then he seems to get an idea. He opens the door and waves for the mediator to come back inside.
“So, I’ve talked to my client, and this—” Fingers shoves the written offer the mediator left with us back across the table “—this ain’t gonna do it.
” He points to my list, specifically landing on that last item.
“What do you say we get these two together, with counsel present, of course? Maybe an apology from Acosta would go a long way to showing my client that she needs to be a little more reasonable.”
Fingers shoots me a look that is sharp, like he’s disappointed in me. I gasp, immediately concerned.
“I’m sorry,” I say, “I just thought—”
“Lacey, please.” Fingers holds up a hand like he’s exhausted and really doesn’t want to hear it. “Let’s see if Acosta is willing to apologize. If you get the most important thing on that list today, then maybe, because it don’t cost nobody nothing, we’ll move on to the other stuff.”
The mediator looks at me, and I can’t read what he’s thinking, but I’ll bet, based on what Fingers said, that he’s going to tell Sergio and his attorney that I’m being difficult.
“Let me sort the issues out with the mediator, and we’ll see if we can’t get Dylan in here.” Fingers follows the mediator out, and my stomach sinks.
But he’s back in a minute.
As soon as he’s back in his chair, I turn on Fingers, but he immediately holds a finger to his lips. “Shh,” he hushes. “These walls got ears.”
He leans close to me and whispers again, “You did good. Sometimes, you gotta help the other side think what you want ’em to think.”
I sit back in my chair and try to figure out what he means. What good will it do for the mediator to think my own attorney is getting sick of me?
What feels like ten minutes later, there is a knock at the door. The mediator comes in, followed by the attorney for the Lantana, who I met this morning, and Dylan.
The mediator addresses me. “You’re free to speak to Mr. Acosta,” he says. “Both his and your attorneys will be right here. So please remember nothing you say is private and anything you do say could impact the direction of this case.”
I nod and sit down in a chair. Dylan comes over and sits next to me. I cross my legs and move my chair a little closer to Dylan’s. It’s not because I want to cozy up to him, but I want to angle my face so all these people aren’t just watching me. It feels weird.
And it must feel weird to Dylan too, because he starts to talk.
“It’s nice not to be the one in the hot seat for once,” he says with a wolfish laugh.
I frown and try to remember that we have an audience. I keep my tone even and my words simple. “It’s definitely not a nice feeling,” I say.
I flick a glance at him, and he’s looking me over. “You were never tough enough, kiddo,” he says. I never noticed how annoying it was that he called me that, but now, the term of endearment sounds tremendously patronizing. But I go with it.
“I know, I know,” I say. “All I ever wanted was for people to have a happy event, an amazing fantasy. I wanted that for your daughter,” I say. “I truly did, Dylan.”
“I know you did, Lacey, but Olivia is a pain. She wants her pound of flesh.” He turns toward me in his chair, and I almost fall out of mine.
“So, you’re saying you know that I didn’t try to sabotage the event? I didn’t coerce you into spending more money—or really any of the stuff that Sergio is saying?” I make sure I sound like I’m blaming Sergio, not Dylan.
Dylan holds up his hands. “Are you seeing anyone, Lacey? How are you holding up without me?”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes and answer, knowing that my attorney and the attorney for the Lantana is right behind us. Not to mention the mediator.
“It’s been hard,” I say cryptically. “This has all been just so hard.”
Dylan nods. “Well, I hope they do the right thing by you.”
I furrow my brow in confusion because that’s exactly what we’re doing here, but Dylan seems completely oblivious to what’s going on.
Then he claps his hands together and says, “So, when this shit’s all over, call me.
I miss you, Lace.” He doesn’t touch me, but he leans forward and says softly enough for me to feel like he’s only talking to me but loudly enough for everyone else to hear it.
“Olivia’s going to Turkey again in the spring. ”
He doesn’t complete that thought before he gets up and nods to the attorneys and mediators. “So, we talked. Are we good here?”
The mediator dismisses him, and both Fingers and the Lantana attorney step outside. What seems like half an hour later, Fingers comes back into the room alone, grinning like a cat that ate the canary.
“What the hell was that?” I ask. “I thought Dylan was going to apologize.”
“You don’t need that asshole’s apology,” he tells me.
Then he grins again, lights his cigarette, takes a huge puff, and quickly extinguishes it.
“When I went outside, I talked to the mediator. I told him not to tell Dylan he had to apologize to you. You’re a sweet young girl whose heart got stomped on by the big, bad, rich guy.
” Fingers almost cackles, but the sound is silent.
“I told the mediator I just thought you needed to feel like you’d mattered to Dylan.
Like you weren’t some piece of trash he’d thrown away as soon as Olivia was back from her Turkish vacation. ”
I’m completely confused. I don’t understand how Dylan thinking I wanted validation from him—and not an apology—could work in my favor. So, I press Fingers on it. “Please dumb this down for me,” I ask.
He nods. “Lacey, Acosta’s got an ego the size of a stadium.
Maybe bigger. A man like that won’t apologize—he doesn’t think he did anything wrong.
But what he did just do is admit in front of a mediator, me, and counsel for the Lantana that he knows you did nothing wrong.
None of the reasons the Lantana wants to fire you will hold water. ”
He waves a hand in the air.
“None of this is admissible, mind you. If we go to trial, we’ll have to get him to say what he just said now on the record.
And he won’t. So, we’ll be in a world of hurt later.
But what we did accomplish is show that jerk-off counsel the kind of witness he’s got.
With the right pressure, Acosta will cave.
Sergio will have nothing, and you’ll look a whole lot better to a jury than the man who came to this mediation and made yet another pass at you. ”
I’m stunned.
Fingers, who looks more like a mob bookie or a gnome from a fantasy novel than an attorney, is a genius. I don’t fully understand how he did what he did, but I know it works. Because a minute later, the mediator comes back in, his face grim and another piece of paper in his hand.
“Ms. Mercer,” he says, “I think we have a deal.”