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I glared at each lawyer in turn —making sure each one saw my eyes.
I was right. They knew it, I knew it. I wanted them to know I knew it.
I saved Rob Michaels for last. I didn't want to look at him. When I did look at him, my whole neck felt hot. I felt I was both too buttoned up and too uncovered.
His eyes held mine for a moment. I couldn't tell if I was glaring at him or he was glaring at me.
Except, he was smiling. Then I sensed the smallest shift in the focus of his eyes.
I kept mine steady, but his were definitely moving south. He was looking down my face, and then pausing. If I didn't know better, I would say he was looking at my lips.
Was my lipstick smeared? Was that why he was staring? I didn't know, because then his gaze moved lower, to my neck. I could feel his regard like a touch. It felt obscene, knowing all these people were watching him watch me.
He was definitely looking at my breasts. I'd been scoped out often enough by enough creeps to know the feeling; the strange burn of shame and pride as he took in my curves.
I had always been distractingly busty. I hated it, really, and I'd thought about getting a breast reduction surgery numerous times. I wanted to be taken seriously, for my research, not stared at because of my boobs.
He was staring. And then he brought his eyes back up to mine. I could see the movement of his tongue under his lips. He was running it across his teeth while he looked into my eyes.
“Leave me alone with Ms. Salle for a second,” he said. His lawyers stood up and scattered, but not without one of them leaving a tape recorder behind.
My brother looked at me in a panic.
“Um,” he attempted, “It's not standard practice to leave one's client with the other party.”
“It's also not standard practice for a personal injury attorney to try and argue patent law, yet here you are. Now, get out,” Rob Michaels said.
My brother quickly got up to go, with his lawyer friends, and I looked at him in disbelief. He looked back at me before he left, though, and I shrugged.
Maybe this was a better way to get a deal. If I told Rob Michaels what trash he was, directly to his face, and with no lawyer army to protect him, maybe I could get my name back on my research.
