“No, baby. You hoped it did and it did not. Hope is not a legal framework. Hope is what people do when they have already made the mistake and are waiting to see if anyone catches them,” Vivienne answered.
Silence filled the room as Meredith Goss nervously tapped the heel of her pump. Vivienne watched her tap and smirked, “this bitch in her DSW heels,” she whispered into Carmen’s ear.
“What was the upside?” Carmen said.
Derek hesitated.
“Derek, please answer the question.”
“We create cultural moments that drive purchase, and we felt that the engagement would be strong,” Derek said.
“So by implying a sexual relationship between two men whose private lives you do not have fucking rights to,” Vivienne said, “for the purpose of moving underwear. Is that correct Derek?”
“That isn’t what…”
“Is. That. Correct?”
“Ladies, that’s not how we see it.”
Carmen and Vivienne looked at each other.
“Mm,” Carmen said.
“Mm-hm,” Vivienne said.
“Well theseladiesare here for blood.”
Carmen shook her head slightly. “You exposed two franchise quarterbacks to reputational and contractual risk and therefore have invited litigation. You create a public record that suggests an intimate relationship you have no right to suggest. You also, and this is the fun part, fuck up your reputation and lose the ability to shoot anywhere near an athlete, because every agent in this town is watching this situation and all of them talk to me, because everyone loves Vivienne Cross.”
Carmen could barely contain herself after that line.
Derek’s hands slid off the table into his lap.
“If this becomes a consent issue,” Carmen said, “you’re not dealing with the press. You’re dealing with discovery, and discovery, Derek, sugar, is when men like you learn what your own problematic emails sound like when an associate reads them out loud to a jury.”
Meredith Goss said, very quietly, “That’s not how we see it.”
“It doesn’t matter how you see it, Meredith, are you even working today, girl, you are giving us nothing,” Vivienne cut in.
Vivienne’s voice was still in the same register. “You came here in person and I know how much you hate L.A., which means you know your clients really fucked up.”
The room fell silent. Carmen took a sip of her coffee and set it down. “You didn’t lose control,” Carmen said. “You never had it.”
Carmen glanced at Vivienne. Vivienne avoided eye contact with Carmen. Which was a thing they did, and had done for fourteen years across six law firms and two agencies. Carmen was the opener, Vivienne the closer.
Vivienne knew when Carmen was opening because Carmen was always opening. Carmen knew when Vivienne was closing because she would uncross and then recross her legs, like a machete.
Carmen started. “Don’t.”
Vivienne finished it without looking up. “Fuck with us boys.”
Vivienne slid a single sheet of paper across the table. She did not explain it. She did not name the number at the top of it. Derek Molina picked it up and read it. His face drained of color.
He set the sheet down very carefully and cleared his throat.
“We’ll need to take this back.”
“You’ll need to sign it by Friday,” Vivienne said.
