Master Debater

28. Willa

Over the past week and a half, I’d been reduced to the nosy neighbor who peered out her blinds at the tiniest of sounds, desperate to see the comings and goings.

Mostly, the comings and goings of the man who lived in the other portion of the duplex. It shouldn’t be possible, and yet I swore all he ever did was the going part. Early in the morning, before I’d even had my coffee.

The man had basically turned me into a nymphomaniac and declared all my orgasms belonged to him, only to disappear for a few weeks after agreeing to give a relationship a shot. Unfair to say the least.

Hell, we’d had more sex before agreeing to be boyfriend and girlfriend, and wasn’t the entire point of that to prevent feelings of loneliness and frustration? I could fully admit the sexual frustration wasn’t exactly a picnic. There was no eating me out; no tasting him on my lips. No sprawling out on blankets, the afterglow of our steamy sessions feeling a hell of a lot like basking in the sunshine.

I’d been tempted to film myself with one of the toys that’d spilled onto the sidewalk the night we met and send it to him, just to see if that would be enough to incite him to return home at a decent time—if that’d be enough to awaken his domineering side so he’d rush over and spank me the way he used to before we were officially a couple.

A couple who rarely spent time together.

If it was only the lack of physical intimacy, I was fairly certain I could deal. Mostly, anyway. But as Nathan grew busier and busier and took longer and longer to return messages, I recognized myself veering into territory I promised myself I’d never go into again. The territory where I did all the messaging, nudging, and general effort involved in keeping the relationship going.

I’d received a few texts in the hours between one or two, with the words “You still up?” All that time waiting for a response, only to receive one during booty-call hours. If I had been awake for either one, I doubted I would’ve been strong enough to refrain from rushing over anyway.

When he texted me the third evening, it’d at least been at nine, and I took leftover stew to his place when he said he hadn’t had dinner yet. He gave me an update on Rylee—she’d taken a plea bargain—and told me that Doxon, the giant biopharmaceutical and biotech company, had hired him as their legal counsel.

No surprise that others wanted Nate as badly as I did, and I’d congratulated him, legitimately thrilled for his and his firm’s success. Then he’d gotten a phone call, and I lost him for another hour.

Not that I had any experience, but I assumed it felt like being the less-famous member in a band, where one person got all the lyrics and fame, and the other one—AKA, me—remained in the shadows, a gut feeling telling you that one day, they’d go solo and leave you in the dust. I’d always been of the opinion everyone who contributed was of equal importance, but the lead singers were the most renowned and got all the best lines. In this scenario, Nathan was definitely more of a Beyonce than I’d ever be.

But I digress…

The night I brought him dinner and sat by his side during his phone calls, stress had radiated off him in waves. When I asked if I could help, he’d replied with a curt “no” and the emptiness forming within me yawned wider.

After spending the night there, mostly silent until we’d had sex and fallen asleep, caused me to be so exhausted I’d slipped up at work. A student had to correct me in the middle of the class I’d been teaching, and while I would never claim to know everything, it’d been such a simple, basic term I still experienced residual embarrassment.

Lights from a car illuminated the living room in stripes, and from my spot on the couch, I pried the slats in the blind apart so I could see if it was the Porsche. But it was too dark.

Van Gogh meowed as he jumped up onto the back of the couch. His whiskers and ears twitched with the outside noise, and the blinds rattled together as he forced his way onto the window ledge. Then he glanced over his shoulder at me, happy to join in on what he assumed was a fun game instead of an act of desperation.

“Looks like it’s just going to be you and me tonight, kitty.” I clicked on the TV and turned it up nice and loud to help drown out the impulse to glance at every little noise. And it’s not as if my neighbor were home to complain.

I couldn’t keep doing this to myself. Waiting. Aching. Staying up too late, just in case. Not only could I not afford to slip up at work, but I was also preparing to spend a lot of time, energy, and resources on recording demos. With a piano player who wasn’t Nate.

It’ll stop being fun and convenient.

“No. That’s not what’s happening,” I said to the voice in my head that wasn’t powerful or harmonious, but grating and smug. “Nate’s just busy, and so am I.”

The novelty will wear off sooner or later.

He has no idea how needy you can be.

“I deserve effort,” I said aloud, to combat my ex’s voice, doing my best to superimpose Leah’s over the top of mine.

Instead of looking at yourself, you’ll wonder where the spark’s gone.

“That’s not it,” I said, my empty living room echoing the words back to me. Did it have to amplify the uncertainty in the statement too?

At the vibrating chime that came from my front pocket, I whipped out my phone to read the text. The first thought I had was Not Nate, proving I wasn’t fooling anyone by pretending to be all casual and cool about the entire situation, not even myself.

I blinked my eyes, refusing to let tears form, and read the text again. Deep down, I knew I was happy. Thrilled, even. It was just hard to feel through the unsettling fog that rolled in thicker and thicker with each passing day.

Rashida:the associate director heard you performing today and says one of his music publishing contacts have been searching for a song like yours. As soon as we have the demo recorded, he’ll set up a meeting.

Rashida:See? I told you that you were brilliant, and that once you flapped your wings again, you’d fly, fly, fly!

The second message was such a mom-like thing to say, and the enormity of what it could mean began to seep in. As well as the vision of calling up Mom and conveying the news to her. I’d fantasized about this moment for a long time, and here it was, coalescing in front of me. I refused not to honor it the way it should be honored.

“I’m going to get to meet with someone at a music publishing company and discuss my songs. Isn’t that cool?”

Van Gogh leaped to the floor and rushed in the direction of the food bowl. Evidently, he wanted to celebrate by me feeding him more treats.

I decided I deserved a treat as well and grabbed a fudge-covered ice cream bar out of the fridge. Two parts celebration, and one part consoling myself over the fact Nate wasn’t here to toast to my success, with dessert or with wine, and that he hadn’t brought up my song since I’d asked for his help with it a week and a half ago.

I’d figured it out on my own, which, yay, but my dream had been eclipsed by some lawsuit that’d been brought against a pharmaceutical and biotech company.

Sort of like the time Eric celebrated our fifth anniversary with the person who’d invented an oral scanner that was going to change the game. Somehow, I was constantly being outshone by old white dudes.

Here I was, on the precipice of my dream, and Nate was acting much the same as my ex had—that his work was more important than my art and dreams would ever be.

I’d just tossed the wrapper and wooden popsicle stick in the trash when the sound of a loud knock broke through.

My heart lurched in its direction, racing faster than I could, even with all the bike riding.

Nate and I will talk, and I’ll remind him about the song, and I’m sure he’ll make time to listen to it if I convey how important it is to me. Then we’ll have sex and cuddle, and it’ll all be okay.

The cool breeze that drifted over me as I opened the door held the promise of crispy leaves on the ground and the availability of pumpkin spice-flavored treats in every coffee shop and bakery.

Oh. That hadn’t been a knock on my door. The raised fist had been pounding on Nate’s door, something I probably would’ve realized if my ears weren’t so perked and hard-up for signs of life from the guy who was never freaking home anymore.

The man with salt-and-pepper hair turned, and my stomach hit the cement step beneath my feet. One of Nate’s uncles—or not-uncles. Former uncles?

Whatever. Point was, Nate wouldn’t be happy about the visitor who was gaping at me as hard as I was gaping at him.

“It’s you.” He snapped his fingers, and a stray thought about how the guy had a certain James Bond vibe flickered through my mind, momentarily distracting me from beating a hasty retreat. “Wendy, wasn’t it?”

“Willa.”

“Ah. I was close.” No, he wasn’t. “Let me guess. That’s short for Wilhelmina, which must mean you’re from the south.”

“Nope and nope.”

His smile was equal parts amusement and chagrin. I crossed my arms, not appreciating him treating me like I was some rebellious child who didn’t have a damn good reason to dislike him. A marginally hypocritical thought, given that when I’d visited his office a week and a half ago, I’d suggested Nate might want to hear out his father’s former partners, but still. I’d obviously underestimated the smugness, and since I cared about Nate, Rylee, and Angela, naturally my protective side surged forward.

“I’m Gil, in case you forgot too.” A lightbulb flickered on above his head as he noticed where I stood. “You live in his building. Before you started dating, or after?”

Despite it being far from a bombshell, I hesitated to give him any information, no matter how big or small.

“Either way, it must be convenient. I know how busy he gets.”

A sharp pang ricocheted through me, that dreaded convenient word leaving behind cuts on every surface it touched. Busy wasn’t much better. “What do you want?”

“I was looking for my nephew. Since he refuses to listen to anything Bobby or I have to say, I was hoping actions might break through to him. We’re offering a truce, along with our firm’s services, free of charge. The Doxon case is huge, and we’d be happy to combine forces, same way we used to back in the day. When it comes to gathering info and digging up facts and figures, no one’s better than Nate. But Bobby and I have a lot more experience with these types of lawsuits, as well as what figures to ask for when it comes to settling out of court. It’s an artform, and we’ve done that song and dance many a time.”

“I have full confidence that Nate can handle this lawsuit himself.” A selfish thought flickered, about how assistance from a big firm would mean my boyfriend could spend more time with me, but I only allowed it to buzz for a few seconds before snuffing it out.

“That may be. But we have the resources that’ll allow him to handle it, as well as get a full eight hours of sleep a night. I’m guessing he hasn’t been home much, and that he’s running himself ragged.”

I crossed my arms tighter. “I will neither confirm nor deny.”

Gil chuckled, and while the amusement in his growing smile softened it, it was definitely at my expense. “That’s a yes, or you would’ve denied.” He tapped the side of his nose. “You forget that I read people for a living.”

Damn it. I should tell him he’d have to take it up with Nate, and then turn around, head inside my place, and lock the door behind me. That’s what I should do.

So why did my feet remain planted in place? It was as though they’d been nailed there by some sadist intent on forcing me to watch the one thing I wanted the very most dangle within my reach before cruelly snatching it away.

“We have two assistants, a court runner, a handful of paralegals, and a law clerk—that’s the beauty of a larger firm. Nate’s only got one paralegal and an assistant that still needs more training.”

I couldn’t help Nate with his caseload, but Gil and Bobby and the firm Nate should belong to in the first place could. I just highly doubted Nate’s pride would allow him to accept the offer. “If you wanted Nate to have access to those resources like you claim, then you shouldn’t have shoved him out in the first place. That’s on you.”

There. I batted the tempting jewel he’d lobbed at me right back, after only a moment of admiring the shiny.

Gil ran his hand along his jaw and spreading smile as he studied me. “I like you, Willa. You’re much smarter than the others. Probably why you’ve lasted.”

The others? Why I’ve lasted? Nope, not going there.

“You’re also the only person I can imagine getting through to my stubborn nephew, so I’m going to level with you.” He took a step in my direction, his entire demeanor changing. If the sorrow drenching his features was an act, he should head to Hollywood, stat. “I’m guessing there are things you’d do differently in your life if you could do it over again.”

My head bobbed before I could remind it we weren’t giving away secrets, Nate’s or our own.

“Yeah, me too. But none of us can change the past. We learn from it, we ask forgiveness for our mistakes, and we try our hardest to make it right when we screw up. Bobby and I listened to our financial advisor and shrugged off what we did to Nate and his family with the phrase most guys like us use to justify our actions at one time or another. ‘It’s just business.’

“We both agreed that Nate needed to do some more growing and practice law for a couple of years before he became a partner.” Gil lifted a finger, and I stepped back, only to feel rather sheepish when he merely pointed it in the air to emphasize his point. “Something I stand by, for the record. Now he’s stood on his own two feet for three years, and he’s been challenged in ways he never otherwise would’ve…”

“Sounds a lot like more justification to me,” I said, unable to help myself.

Gil held up his hands in supplication, his guffaw more at his expense this time, if I were reading him right. “Fair enough, fair enough. Bad lawyer habit.”

I accidentally smiled at that one.

“Time to lay out all the cards. I’ll start with the logical and move the emotional. If Nate wins the Doxon case, obviously it’ll be huge for his firm. However, if he loses, he’ll lose a whole lot more than the case. Clients will jump ship, left and right. Just the cold, hard truth.

“As for the emotional reason…” Gil clenched his jaw and cleared his throat a couple of times before he could force out the rest. “Bobby had lung cancer. He didn’t want to toss that in as a bargaining chip to gain pity or inflict guilt, as he feels enough guilt as it is. He had a lung removed, and there was a stretch in there when it looked like…”

The ice I’d attempted to keep around my heart cracked, unable to withstand the heat of a grown man tearing up over nearly losing his brother.

After more throat clearing and scuffing his shoes on the cement step, Gil managed to rein in his emotions. “What it boils down to is that during those bleak, painful moments, he was sure he’d die with unresolved regrets. Now that he’s got a clean bill of health, he doesn’t want to live with them anymore either. He’ll be pissed as hell if he finds out that I spilled his secret, but what Nate does, Rylee will follow, and that girl’s lost enough, don’t you think?”

“Their entire family’s lost enough.”

“All the more reason for us to take some of the burden off them. Help us make amends, Willa.”

“You’re asking an awful lot of me, and it’s not like you’ve given me much of a choice after burdening me with the truth.”

“Funny thing about the truth,” Gil said. “Contrary to popular belief, it doesn’t always set you free.”