“Yeah, okay.”
“Great.” He strides down the aisle leading out of the now empty courtroom, leaving me to follow. He pushes open the wide swinging doors and holds one side open for me.
My heels clack over the marble floor as I hurry to match his long strides. We pass the guarded entrance. One of the officers shouts a greeting to me and I wave.
“They seem to know you well here,” David says once we’re outside.
“I practice in this courthouse a lot.”
“I noticed.” He lets out a wry laugh.
Not my fault he didn’t ask about the local rules before agreeing to take this case.
There’s a line at the cafe but we’re eventually directed to a booth in the back.
After we place our orders with the frazzled waitress, David rolls up his sleeves and rests his forearms on the table. “So, is it everything you thought it was going to be when we were in law school?”
I don’t have to ask him what it is. Lots of lawyers toss this question around. In fact, I think he and I have had this conversation before. “Not at all. You?”
“Nope. Better.”
Good for you.
Our waitress deposits our plates on the table. Ravenous, I pull mine closer and snag my sandwich.
“Are you still happy being solo?” he asks.
I pause mid-chew and set my sandwich on the plate. “It’s hectic, but I prefer it.”
“Really?” His tone drips with disbelief and condescension. “Have you been able to hire an assistant yet?”
I grit my teeth, embarrassed by the answer. “No, it’s not easy to find someone. I’m picky about how I like things done.” And I can’t afford it. Picky doesn’t sound as pathetic, so I leave it at that.
He chews slowly and takes a sip of water. “Your overhead must be killing you.”
I shrug. Marcel keeps offering to take care of the bills but I refuse to have my husband-to-be finance my law practice. “I do okay.”
“Your office is so tiny. And cave-like.” He shudders as if he needs to emphasize my office is beneath him.
“It suits me.”
“Look,” he says, a note of exasperation coloring his words, “my firm is looking to hire someone.”
I pause, holding my sandwich in the air and raise an eyebrow.
“And I thought of you,” he finishes.
I scoff, then realize he’s serious. I set my sandwich down again and wipe the laughter off my face. “So I can represent rich assholes like your client? Hard pass.”
He chuckles and swipes his napkin over his mouth. “No, the senior partners are looking for someone to do pro bono work. You’d be able to represent all the poor schmucks your little bleeding heart desires. All while having support staff, supplies, and overhead taken care of. No worries. Just concentrate on your beloved riffraff.”
God, working at a firm full of smug assholes like David sounds like my worst nightmare. I’ve never fit in with those kinds of lawyers. But the rest of it sounds like a dream come true. “Why me?”
“Uh, you’re a good lawyer.” He raises his eyebrows like he can’t believe he has to explain this. “And I want to look good to the partners so I can get a nice, fat bonus this year.”
“I’m guessing I wouldn’t be eligible for a bonus?”
He snorts. “I have no idea. You can discuss that with the hiring partner. The salary alone will be more than you’re making now. Without the stress of running your own practice all by yourself.”
It’s tempting. I’m probably an idiot for not jumping at the opportunity. “Let me think about it.”
“What’s there to think about?”
“I want to talk it over with my fiancé, for one thing.”
“Yeah, yeah, that makes sense.” I can’t tell if he’s agreeing or mocking me. “We have a generous parental leave policy, you know. If that’s something you’re thinking about.” He holds up his hand. “As a friend, I’m sharing information.”
At a firm like that, I probably wouldn’t be able to come and go as I please like I do now. No long breakfasts with Marcel on the mornings I don’t have to be in court. No skipping out early on Friday afternoons to hang with the girls before a clubhouse party either.
“Would I still be allowed to accept assignments from the county?” I ask.
“Sure. You’d probably be more likely to be assigned cases because the judge knows you’ve got the benefit of a firm behind you.”
It would be nice to have more resources available so I could focus on my clients.
“If you’re interested, I’ll have the hiring partner reach out to you. Is it okay if I give him your number?”
“Sure.” Why not? I doubt I’m the only person they’ll consider. Someone’s buddy or a son of one of the partners will probably get the job but David’s endorsement has further boosted my ego after my court victory. “Thanks for thinking of me.”
“You don’t look happy for me.” I didn’t expect Marcel to jump for joy when I told him about my lunch with David. But some reaction would be nice.
Marcel sighs and runs his hands through his hair. “I just know how a lot of those old men still behave. And if one of those fucks pats your ass or talks down to you”—he stops and punches his fist into his palm— “I’ll have to go in there and crack skulls.”
I should’ve known that was what would run through his mind.
“So sweet and savage.” I pat his cheek and he playfully bites my wrist. A ticklish sensation trails up my arm. Giggling, I pull away. “Down, beast.”
I might as well wave a red flag. He growls and lunges for me, grabbing my waist and lifting me in the air.
“Mine.”
“Always yours.” I loop my arms around his neck as he sets me on my feet. “So, that’s a no? If they call, should I decline to interview?”
The playfulness vanishes from his face. “Hell, no. If you think it will be better for you, then do it. I’m proud of you no matter what.”
“Thank you.”
Three quick taps on the glass of the side door draw our attention. The knob twists and Carter slowly peeks inside.
“Geez,” he moans, quickly averting his gaze, “are you ever not molesting my sister?”
Marcel rolls his eyes. “Come on in, why don’t you?”
Carter glances at me. “Well, at least you’re dressed.”
“Watch it,” Marcel growls.
Carter closes the door with a quiet click, turns, and grins at us. “See, that’s why I like you, Teller. I can poke fun at you all day long, but if you think I’m dissing my sister”—he lifts his fists in the air and pretends to take a swing— “you’re all over it.”
“You could, oh, I don’t know, not poke fun at either of us,” I suggest.
“Nah, that’s no way to live.” Carter lifts his chin. A bit of seriousness flattens his lips. “How was your trial?”
Marcel winks and releases me. He roughs his hand over Carter’s hair and pulls him into a headlock. “You should’ve led with that question. Your sister kicked ass today.”