She raised a suspicious eyebrow at this. Oh really? But Jason’s face gave nothing away.

Curiosity got the better of her, so Taylor opened the box. She rifled through the tissue paper until she found a T-shirt. When she pulled it out, she saw two words printed on the shirt in perfect reference to her infamous court argument: SHIT HAPPENS.

Taylor laughed out loud.

She looked over at Jason, reluctantly amused by the joke, and smiled.

“Okay, Mr. Andrews,” she conceded. “Let’s get started.”

Seven

“I DON’T CARE what the script says. That’s not how it works.”

Taylor stood in front of the lawyer’s table peering stubbornly down at Jason. They were in their tenth hour of work. She had been shocked when she checked her watch a few minutes ago and saw how late it had gotten. She supposed things would go faster if he didn’t insist on fighting her over virtually every change she suggested to the script. See, for example, their current debate.

“And I don’t see what difference it makes,” Jason replied defensively. He held his script in his hand, waving it at her.

“It makes a big difference,” she argued back. “While you might think you look ‘pensive’ and ‘unimpressed’ ”—she finger-quoted the words he had used just moments before—“by remaining seated during your opposing counsel’s argument, that’s not the way it works in a real courtroom. You have to stand every time you argue before the judge.”

Then she gestured at the script and said for the umpteenth time that day, “Didn’t anyone talk to a real lawyer before writing this?”

My, my, Jason observed. Apparently he wasn’t the only one who was a little cocky.

He watched as Taylor positioned herself at the corner of the jury box farthest from the witness stand. Earlier, she had gone and ruined their lovely “Shit Happens” moment by turning all serious the minute they stepped into her firm’s mock trial room. But Jason figured there had to come a point when her armor would crack again—even if just for the slightest moment. Not that he particularly minded watching her strut sassily around the courtroom for ten hours.

“Now, we were talking about the differences between direct and cross-examination,” Taylor called over from the far end of the jury box, back in teacher mode. “Unlike cross, when doing a direct examination you want to stand by the jury, so that you force the witness to look at the jurors when answering questions. That way you draw in their attention, almost as if the witness is talking directly to them.”

Jason frowned at this, peering down at one of the pages in his script.

“But if I’m all the way across the courtroom, how am I supposed to throw a book at the witness?”

Taylor whirled around, appalled at such a mocking insult to the practice of law.

“The script says you’re supposed to throw a book at a witness?” She stormed across the room and grabbed the script from him. She skimmed furiously, turning the pages back and forth as she searched for the offensive passage.

After a few moments, she looked up at Jason, confused. “That’s not what it says.”

He smiled. Gotcha.

Taylor folded her arms across her chest. “Very funny.”

“It’s just too easy.” He laughed. Then he braced himself for the expected stinging retort.

But instead Taylor was silent, having already turned her attention back to the script. She flipped through several pages.

“This dialogue . . .” She trailed off, as if troubled. She sat down at the table next to Jason.

He looked over and saw the particular section of the script she was focused on: the midpoint of the screenplay, where his character destroyed a key witness for the opposition with a brutal cross-examination. The scene was one of his favorites, so he was surprised she seemed bothered by it.

“What’s wrong with the dialogue?” he asked, peering over her shoulder. “I didn’t think it was bad.”

“It’s not that it’s bad,” she replied. She glanced up at him and blushed slightly, hesitating.

“Never mind. I’m being too much of a lawyer here.”

Jason gazed firmly at her. He never compromised with acting, no matter how small the details. And for whatever reason, he found he valued Taylor Donovan’s opinion quite a bit.

“No, seriously. I want to know what you think.”

Taylor took in his earnest expression. She frankly had been surprised by his attitude during their ten hours together. Blowing off their meetings for a weekend in Las Vegas certainly had, in her mind, been a good indication of his work ethic. But, quite to the contrary, she would have to admit that Vason seemed truly interested in the various trial techniques she had demonstrated and had asked her many questions throughout the day. Some of them were even good ones.

So Taylor slid the problematic script over so that they both could read from it.

“Well, for starters, this scene is supposed to be a cross-examination, right?” She pointed to the troublesome sequence.

Jason frowned. “Yes. Why?” He moved in closer to get a better look at the script.

“See—your problem is that none of these questions are leading questions.” She saw his head tilt in confusion, so she explained further. “All of these questions are open-ended. You would never ask them on cross, because cross-examination is all about controlling the witness. You force the witness to say the things you want, and only those things. And you certainly don’t give the witness any opportunity to explain himself.”