“Ms. Campbell, as part of your claim for emotional distress damages, you signed a waiver permitting us to look at your medical records, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“And that waiver allowed us to look at all your medical records?”

“Yes, although Dr. Moore is the only psychologist I saw for the emotional distress I suffered.”

“I understand that, Ms. Campbell, but for a moment I’d like to talk to you about treatment you received from a Dr. Michelle Phillips at 1089 First Street in Santa Monica. You do know Dr. Phillips, don’t you?”

There was a scurry of activity over at the plaintiff’s table as Frank began riffling through his files. Taylor heard him mumble under his breath to his cocounsel, presumably something along the lines of “Who the f**k is Dr. Phillips?”

Ms. Campbell looked at Taylor, confused. “But Dr. Phillips is my gynecologist—I really don’t see what she has to do with any of this.”

“Yes or no, Ms. Campbell.”

“Yes, I know Dr. Phillips,” the witness grumbled.

Carrying her file, Taylor stepped closer to the witness stand.

“Do you recall telling Dr. Phillips during your appointment on February second of last year that you needed to be tested for sexually transmitted diseases because—let me make sure I get this correct here . . .” Taylor read out loud from her file, “Because, quote, ‘your weasel-dick husband slept with a skanky whore stripper and the cheating bastard didn’t use a rubber’?”

Ms. Campbell shot up in her chair. “She actually wrote that down?”

The jury tittered with amused laughter and sat up interestedly. Finally—things were starting to look a little more like Law & Order around here.

“I take it that’s a yes?” Taylor asked.

“Yes,” Ms. Campbell’s voice cracked. She cleared her throat as Taylor asked her next question.

“And do you also remember telling your gynecologist that you were, quote, ‘under extreme emotional distress because of your unfaithful dirtbag husband and couldn’t eat or sleep’?”

Ms. Campbell sunk lower in her chair as if trying to hide. “Yes,” she whispered.

Taylor pointed to the file. “And then, according to Dr. Phillips’s records, did you also tell her, ‘Thank god I at least have my job to get away from that lousy son of a bitch, or I’d probably kill them both’?”

By now, Ms. Campbell had sunk so far down in her chair that there was little more than two eyeballs peeking out over the witness stand.

“I may have said that,” she said meekly.

Taylor smiled patiently. Of course she had.

“Well, then, going back to your earlier testimony, are you sure you want to tell this jury that the only thing causing stress in your life was your employment with the defendant? And not the”—she consulted her file one last time—“ ‘weaseldick unfaithful dirtbag’ you were married to?”

The two eyeballs blinked at Taylor from behind the witness stand.

“There may have been a few other things going on in my life at the time.”

Taylor snapped her file shut. “Okay—I’m glad we cleared that up.” She looked over at the judge. “I have no further questions, Your Honor.” She returned to the defense table and took her seat next to Derek.

“You love this stuff, don’t you?” Derek whispered teasingly. Taylor hid her smile, not wanting the jury to see. She did, she really did.

Seeing that it was a good time for a break, the judge decided to recess the trial until two. As soon as the judge and jurors had filed out of the courtroom, Frank headed over to Taylor’s table.

“Why don’t we grab lunch, Taylor?” he said casually. “I’d like to talk about how the case is going.”

Derek nudged her knowingly.

Taylor took in her opposing counsel impassively. “Okay. But only if you’re buying, Frank.” She watched as the man got all rigid and indignant.

“I’m only kidding, Frank. Sheesh.”

MIDWAY THROUGH THEIR bagel sandwiches, Frank laid it all on the line.

“This case is a sinking ship, Taylor. The EEOC wants out.”

They were sitting in a coffee shop across the street from the courthouse. The place was packed with lawyers, so Taylor and Frank had chosen a table in the back where they could talk privately.

“That’s quite an about-face from our last settlement negotiations,” Taylor said.

“When you told me to call you when someone saw a penis.”

“Did any ever turn up?”

Taylor stared innocently at Frank, who just sat there, glaring. Then—shockingly—he actually cracked a smile. He shook his head ruefully.

“Not a one.”

Taylor eased back in her chair. She was glad to see Frank finally acting like a human being and all, but business was still business.

“Can I ask what brought about this change of heart?”

“It’s these witnesses. I don’t know what happens, I go through their testimony, I prep them, but then they get on the stand and you crack them like . . .” Frank paused, gesturing, searching for the right word.

“Walnuts?”

“No.”

“Eggs?”

“No.”

“Little bitty pieces of glass?”

Frank looked at her, exasperated. “Are you always like this?”

“It’s part of my charm.”