44. Cooper
44
Cooper
I skip my trip to Leah’s shop this morning. I have a meeting with PJ bright and early. He’ll be here soon, and I’d like to get in as much torture as humanly possible. The thing is, I saw how the man looked at Leah the night we were all stuck on that wedding boat together. There are feelings there—not pure ones, but they’re there. Like he’s a possessive child with a toy he doesn’t want but also doesn’t want to share. He doesn’t love her, though, and he doesn’t get to hurt her anymore.
I have a plan.
I’m saying it’s foolproof—mostly because I am a fool for Leah. A complete and total fool. So, this must work. For Leah. For her family. Because I cannot defend Camila to the Holy Father—I’m not even Catholic.
I’ve met with PJ’s lawyer—Jacobs. He’s expensive and he’s good. But he’s not as good as me. And more so, he’s not nearly as motivated as I am.
There’s a tap on my door, and my pulse picks up speed. That’s new. Normally when I’m confident like this, my body is calm. But then, this is for Leah. This isn’t for money or pride or even winning. It’s for Leah.
“Enter,” I say, and thankfully my voice is steady. I stand, filling the small space of this room with my six feet three inches.
PJ strides in, smiling like he’s got the upper hand. Like I’ve called him here to surrender. Not today. “No Leah?” he says. Though he knew she wouldn’t be here. I already told him that.
“No Jacobs?” I ask, referring to his lawyer.
“You asked for a one-on-one. I’m here. I’m agreeable. Now, I’m hoping you’re here to tell me that Leah’s finally come to her senses. That she’s agreeable too.”
“Agreeing to give you her shop name—the sacred title that came from her deceased grandfather?” I say, sitting across from him.
He’s insane, right?
Crazy, loco PJ slinks into the chair opposite my desk, that weasel grin still on his face.
My goal: to wipe it clean off.
“Or were you hoping she’d agree to give you all her family recipes for your new cookbook? Or maybe that she’d hate you so much she’d never pick it up and realize that you’d stolen from her? She might never find out if she hated you enough.”
Other than the small twitch in PJ’s left eye, he is every bit as calm as me. He’s smooth, like the slimiest of snakes. PJ crosses one leg over the other. He doesn’t deny the fact, and he’s trying hard to act as if he doesn’t care that I know he’s stolen from Leah. But that twitch says otherwise.
“Those recipes are free game. I’ve done nothing illegal. Besides, I’ve made changes.”
“Like whipping rather than stirring the coconut flan?” Yep, I compared those recipes thoroughly for two days and nights. “I’m not sure that change counts.”
PJ sighs as if I’m tiring him. “There are a lot of coconut flan recipes out there. Leah doesn’t have the rights to coconut flan.”
Okay, I’m already sick of this guy. I have no desire to hang out with him longer than necessary. So, I get to it. “I have proof that every single recipe from your up-and-coming release came from Leah’s family recipes. None of them are yours.”
“You think that’ll hold up in court? My lawyer is confident I have the rights to each one. Don’t you get it? Leah shared a lot with me. I’m guessing she’d share a lot more if I wanted her to.”
My pulse thrums in my neck, but I ignore his comment meant to upset me and move forward. “Shared isn’t the same as given. If you take something that someone has shown you, PJ, it’s still stealing. It’s still a form of plagiarism. And you know as well as I do that Leah is much too good for you. You’ve lost all your hope with her. Pretending won’t change that.”
“She does not have the rights to every coconut flan recipe in the world!” He stands, his cool man persona melting away like ice cream on concrete in July.
“Maybe she does. In fact, I’m confident she does.” Of course Leah doesn’t have the rights to every single coconut flan recipe—but if PJ is saying it, I’m going to push the opposite every time.
PJ snuffs out a growl, his head shaking.
I let his growl linger in the stillness of my office space. I let his breathing return to normal and his nerves settle. And then, I hit him where it hurts. “Let me ask you this, PJ: How much are you paying your lawyer? ”
Menacing brow lowers and his lip curls in disgust. He lets out one more growl before storming out my office door and into the waiting room.
He thinks he’s calling it. That this meeting is over.
But I’m the ref here, and this is far from finished. I follow him out into the small waiting room where Arnold Hallstead stands, pink box in hand, eyes wide. The man is silent. He’s heard the yelling from my office.
But I can’t worry about that now. I’m not done with PJ. And I can’t let the man leave until I’ve said all that I’ve prepared.
So, I ignore Arnold and his startled deer-in-the-headlight eyes.
“Because I’m working for Leah pro bono. I’m doing this because I like her. And I’m willing to drag this out, suing you one recipe at a time. I will work and slave and draw this out until you have nothing left. Because the fact is, you poached Leah’s recipes, her shop name, and two years of her life. I’m putting a stop to it—even if I have to break my back every minute for the rest of my living, breathing days.”
The riotous room settles with my words, leaving only silence in its wake. The only sound is Arnold’s quick breaths.
PJ’s eye is twitching like he’s developed a never-ending nervous tic. His jaw clenches. He’s taking in my words—each and every one. No doubt, he’s calling up his bank account figures in his head. How much is this worth to him? How successful will his cookbook be? Enough to pay Jacobs back? And then?—
“What do you want?” he says.
My heart patters. “Leah keeps her name and her recipes. You drop all charges and create your own Pathetically Jaded recipes.” I tilt my head, studying him, making sure he’s taking in every single word coming out of my mouth. “ In return, I won’t sue you—and crush you—for intellectual property theft.”
He huffs out a humorless laugh. “So, I get nothing?”
“You had your chance at everything . You blew it. You had the best thing of all, and you gave her up. A logo and a few recipes—” I shake my head. “You’ll get over it.”
“You’re in love with her.” He smirks as if he’s found me out. As if this gives him the upper hand over me.
Arnold sucks in a small gasp, one that I ignore and one I’m not sure PJ even notices. He’s too worried about himself.
Fiery Leah. Sassy Leah. Leah telling me off. Leah loving her grandfather. Leah building her business. Leah sitting with Alice. Leah in a red dress. “I am.” My heart thumps in my chest, but I stand tall. Because— I am . I love Leah. Can you fall in love in a matter of weeks? My head is a merry-go-round. I don’t ever want to live without Leah, so… I guess you can.
“I’m done with this. Leah can have her name and her recipes. They aren’t worth this.” His dark eyes lift to mine and he grimaces. “You think you love her. Believe me, it’ll wear off,” he says, lip snarling.
I take one step toward the man. One. But before I can retort—and he knows that I will—he’s gone, past Arnold and out the door.
“ Whoa ,” Arnold says through a heavy breath. “Cooper. That was”—his head bobbles in a shake—“intense.”
Sweat pools at the back of my neck, and I pull at my collar, needing air and probably a change of clothes. “How’d I do?”
Arnold smiles. “Terrific.”
I grin. It’s over, and Leah’s in the clear. And if I didn’t have a meeting with Mr. Macias, I’d be on my way to the shop to tell her the good news .
I could text her.
But then—I want to tell her in person. I want to see her face, hear her response, and hold her in my arms.
My mind is reeling—I’m exhausted—when a thought hits me. “Arnold, what are you doing here?”
“You didn’t come by the shop at our usual time. I asked Leah. She said you had a meeting.”
I swallow. I told her I had a meeting, but not with whom.
“So,” he says, “I brought you this.” Arnold holds up a Sweet Swirls box, four pecan rolls inside. I stare down at the box, bought and paid for by Arnold Hallstead.
I smile at my friend, surprised, and Arnold beams back. It’s my lucky day. The stars must be aligned. This feels almost as victorious as defeating PJ.