Chapter 31 – Cain
It’s hardly six in the morning on Thursday, and my flight from LAX has just touched down back in New York City. The only thing that’s keeping me upright is the single cup of stale, black coffee that I’d managed to choke down on the plane.
You’d think sitting in first-class they’d have better options. But the plane was old, and my patience is thin being away from Rhiannon for so long working on a case that’s drained the life out of me.
I glance at my phone again, anxiety gnawing at me as I weave through the terminal to grab a taxi and head straight to the office.
I didn’t sleep a wink during the flight. My mind has been in overdrive since landing in Los Angeles and seeing that text message from Rhiannon.
Rhiannon: Also, you were right about going on a date with Rebel. That was a mistake.
Why was it a mistake? What did he say to her?
A thousand scenarios have played out in my head since reading that, each one much worse than the last and all of them ending with Rebel either doing something that would land him in legal trouble, or worse, hurting Rhiannon.
He better not have touched her.
My temples throb as I rub them, trying to calm myself before my blood pressure hits dangerous levels.
The exhaustion that’s permeated my muscles isn’t helping either.
Between the red-eye flight, 24 hours with practically zero sleep, and two days straight of wrestling a case and client from hell, I’m running on fumes.
I should be heading straight to my penthouse to crash, but there’s no way I’m resting until I know what’s going on and check in with my father.
“The Law Offices of Prescott and Associates, please,” I tell the cab driver as I slide into the back seat outside of the terminal. He nods and barrels into the flow of early-morning New York City traffic, weaving through it with practiced ease.
As we approach the office, I fish my phone out of my pocket and dial Rebel’s number for the fourth time since Rhiannon’s text. The phone rings once before going straight to voicemail. No answer, not that I expected one this early. He’s probably still asleep or nursing a hangover.
Stepping out of the cab, I prepare myself for whatever I’m about to find when I enter my dad’s firm. I know he’s going to be anxious for an update on the L.A. case, but Rhiannon’s text continues to kick through my mind, making me uneasy. Sleep and Brookhaven will have to wait for now.
I dial Rebel’s number again, this time leaving a voice mail. “Hey Rebel, it’s your lawyer from Prescott & Associates, Cain Prescott. Give me a call when you get this, please. Need to touch base on a couple important things.”
I step inside the sliding, gold doors of the law offices, jamming the elevator button repeatedly while a single mantra pounds in my head like a drumbeat: He better not have hurt her.
I pull out my phone, debating whether to call Rhiannon or at least respond to her message, but my thoughts are interrupted the second that the elevator doors slide open because my father is already there, waiting for me like a lion ready to pounce.
My eyes narrow at him, trying to figure out if he’s been tracking my location. “Good morning, father.”
“I need you to debrief me in Conference Room C on everything that went down in California this week,” he says, his tone clipped without even a question about my flight.
He steers me toward the glass-walled room with no room for debate. I suppress a groan, forcing my exhaustion to the back burner as I fall into step beside him while he rattles on about the upcoming office holiday party that one of the interns is planning and already screwed up.
Inside the sleek conference room, surrounded with windows, my father dims the glass, frosting it over so that no one else from the firm can see us.
I want to ask him if that was necessary, but no one defies my father, even his only son and the man expected to take over his law firm one day.
He takes his usual seat at the head of the table despite me being the only person in attendance. His sharp gray suit and colder eyes are the embodiment of control, power, and everything that makes him one of New York and California’s most sought-after entertainment lawyers.
To his credit, we get results at our firm.
Even if they sometimes come at the cost of some unusual methods.
I used to look up to him and the way he did business.
I think I still do. At his core, he’s a good person who cares about his people.
He pays our employees well and he only takes on clients that he feels we should be representing.
But since meeting Rhiannon, I see him with different eyes. I notice how lonely he is and the way that he masks that emptiness with work. I wonder if he even realizes how he’s feeling.
I drop into a chair across from him, loosening my tie as he stares me down.
“Talk,” he commands.
I take a deep breath and place my palms flat on the table, feeling the cool wood settle into my bones.
I didn’t always know I was lonely either.
For years I’d convinced myself I was content spending every waking moment working.
But now I miss Rhiannon. And finally, she wants to talk to me.
Hopefully about how she wants to date me.
And that thought’s enough to get me through this meeting so I can get to Brookhaven as soon as possible.
“The short version? The whole case is a damn circus. Our client is every bit the Hollywood nightmare you’d expect. He thinks he can put his dick in anyone he wants without consequences.”
“Wasn’t that the point of sending you there on a red eye? To scare him straight?”
“Sure, but I wasn’t expecting him to blow up every chance I had to fix things. He skipped mediation twice, and when he finally showed up, drunk and high, he walked out after twenty minutes because, and I quote, ‘This whole situation is cringe.’”
My dad’s grey eyes narrow, his face remaining unreadable. “I assume that’s when the opposing counsel filed that motion to escalate?”
“You got it.”
My father’s jaw tightens. “So, the settlement?”
“It’s dead. He’s refusing to pay a cent, and unless I pull off a miracle, this is headed to trial.” I lean back, folding my arms across my chest and hating the way this expensive suit feels against my dry skin.
“If you want my honest opinion, we should drop him as a client. He’s more trouble than he’s worth.”
His steely gaze weakens just slightly, a rare flicker of disapproval. “You’re getting soft. He’s a high-profile client and when you win this, it’ll solidify your place at the firm.”
“I thought that I’ve already done that?”
He raises a brow in warning, and I know that’s my queue to stop talking. I’ve busted my ass off for the firm. I’m the youngest lawyer in history to make partner here, and it wasn’t handed to me like most would assume given my father owns the place. I earned that title.
I take on the most complicated cases, bill the most hours, and am the most requested out of everyone in our firm. If I haven’t solidified my place here, well hell, what am I doing all this for? I might as well go to another law firm where I’ll be more valued.
That’s laughable.
My dad would never let me leave and I enjoy working as an entertainment lawyer, though the clients and constant drama grate on me some days. Not to mention the long hours, especially since I want to start spending more time with Rhiannon.
I nod, though the thought of another year dealing with this childish client makes my blood pressure spike. Maybe there’s a way to cut back.
“I’ll handle it,” I say.
My father studies me for a long moment, his sharp gaze narrowing slightly before he leans back in his chair. Then, to my utter shock, he says something I’ve never heard in my thirty-five years of life.
“Take the rest of the day off to rest. We can regroup on the case over dinner later tonight.”
For a fleeting second, I think he might actually care about my well-being. But then he adds, in true Maxwell Prescott fashion, “You’re useless to me if you’re falling asleep in court.”
And there it is—the father that I was hardly raised by but know too well.
“I have dinner plans already,” I mutter, rising from my seat and grabbing my laptop and bag. Because I’m going to see Rhiannon tonight. “But we can catch up tomorrow.”
And then I turn and leave, headed to my office to catch up on all the work I’ve neglected.
Four hours later, after two unavoidable meetings and a mountain of paperwork, I’m dragging myself out of yet another conference room full of paralegals.
My exhaustion has reached critical levels, and my frustration isn’t far behind. By the time I reach my office, I’m practically running on fumes, knowing that I should go home and take a power nap before I head out to Brookhaven to surprise Rhiannon.
I pull out my phone and glance at the screen. One missed call from Rebel. I hit redial, pressing the phone to my ear as it rings. Once, twice, three times. It takes him five rings to pick up, his voice groggy and thick with sleep.
“Yeah?” he mutters.
I glance at the clock on my wall. It’s almost noon.
Nice of you to finally wake up.
“Hey Rebel. It’s Cain Prescott your lawyer calling.”
“What’s up, Cain?”
I think the question over, wondering how much confidentiality I’m breaching and deciding I don’t care anymore. I’m too tired, and too obsessed with Rhiannon to think this is a bad idea.
“A client of mine says they saw you out on a date with a model a few nights ago,” I lie. “Did everything go okay with that? Anything I should know about from a legal perspective?”
Yeah, sure. A legal perspective is what I care about right now.
He lets out a breath. “Can’t go anywhere without people noticing me. Yeah, it was fine. I wanted to scout her for my new merch line. Hey, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. We need to go over the trademark and shit, right?”
“Yeah. Let’s get an appointment on the calendar with Dave.”
“Cool. I’ll ask him to hit you up.”