Page 169 of Snap Shot

Nik:It's too late for all that. You already opened up the blouse to fit those big boobs.

Dad:Lalalalala I'm not hearing this.

Esha:YOU LOUDMOUTH.

Nik:You're right, you're not hearing it. You're reading it.

Mom:Don't talk back to your father!

Esha:Why'd you have to say boobs in front of Dad! RIP.

Me:I can't with you guys.

Sliding my finger across the screen to power the phone down, I tuck it into my purse and hand the bag to Bea. Landon stares ahead, his usual kind eyes cold and glossy. I choose my words carefully in my approach. Can't risk any raised brows.

“Feeling okay?”

He blinks away his inattention. “Yeah. You?”

“I'm good.” A polite, professional smile will have to suffice. “This is almost over. You trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Good. We'll stick to the plan,” I address the rest of the crew and motion to the doors, tightening my grip on the briefcase handle. “Time to go.”

Annalise Pall and her legal team await us inside. Oliver Coffey, the greasy bastard that's her attorney, stands beside her in a gaudy, but expensive tawny suit. Like a glorified car salesman. I've never had the unfortunate luck of facing him in court.

“Ms. Davé,” he calls, extending a hand across the enormous mahogany conference table. I give it a solid shake in return. “Glad we're finally getting to meet.”

“You can thank Judge Packard for that. Shall we get started?” The nerve of this guy. He only showed up because we got a court date.

“Please.” His hand opens to the chairs surrounding the table. We all take our seats. Landon and Theresa flank me, while Bea sits behind. My briefcase opens with the clapping of its metal closures. I remove three folders and line them up on the tabletop before handing the empty case to Bea.

“Our offer to settle is straightforward,” I announce.

Pall fixates on her nails, seemingly bored. She's beautiful in a socially conventional way that I could never be, and I have to stop the jealousy buzzing inside my brain.

“We require a public apology by your client.”

Coffey scoffs with a sneer. “I think you've got it twisted, Ms. Davé. If anyone is owed an apology, it's Ms. Pall.”

I nod, my mouth turning downward with fake surprise. “Is that so?”

“Her reputation has been sullied by—”

Thesmackof my folder harshly flipping open interrupts him. I pass a stack of clipped-together papers to him across the table.

“What's this?”

“We obtained it from the cellular phone company. It documents the texts exchanged between your client and Marshall Langley in the first two weeks of January. He's a photographer for the Daily News. Ring any bells?”

Coffey shrugs a denial.

“It's the publication that first posted the private picture of my client on June fifth. Other print and internet media sources circulated it in the weeks to follow.”

I let my findings sink in.

“As you can see, she initiated the conversation. I've highlighted the important parts for your convenience.”

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