CHAPTER 18 Charlie
CHAPTER 18
Charlie
“ C ongrats on winning that motion to strike,” Noah says, his tall form taking up most of the doorway to my office. He’s got a Santa hat on, which I’m pretty sure Shelby put on him, because Noah’s not that ridiculous. The rest of his outfit is a classic suit for court, sans jacket. His phone buzzes in his pocket, but he ignores it.
“Thanks,” I mutter. Then I try to make an effort because one, Noah is very nice, and two, he’s the cofounder of this law firm. “How’s it going with you? Anything I need to know about?”
Noah starts telling me about a case he’s working on, and I do my best to listen, even though my mind keeps wandering to what Rowan may be getting up to now that he’s alone in the house. I wish I were there with him, instead of here in my office on the fourteenth—really thirteenth—floor of a high-rise building in Century City.
Most of the lawyers in the other firms in this building are assholes. Not so at Weston I hate a lot of the actual work and a couple of my clients, who tend to poison the entire well.
Noah tilts his head, and the pom-pom on the end flips to the other side. “You good?”
I nod reflexively. Noah’s not one I open up to. Now that I think about it, the only people I open up to besides Rowan are Cam, Reyna, and Danny. That’s not a big list. But I don’t want it to be a big list.
“You sure?” Noah asks.
God, he’s the best. He’s not technically my boss—I’m a full partner—but he still has this mother hen attitude where he wants everyone in the office to be happy. It figures he’d pick up on my thoughts when I’m wondering what the hell I’m doing here. Nothing like having a little existential crisis in the office. I feel like I shouldn’t be complaining; I made my bed, and I should now sleep in it. So to speak.
Thinking of beds makes me think of Rowan in mine. And thinking of Rowan in my bed makes me think of things that are just for me. Not the things other people say I’m supposed to want. Not the things I’ve absorbed in my core that I think I’m supposed to do. But what I truly want, deep down inside me.
Also, hmm, when do I let people know about Rowan? I’m hesitant to admit that I’m letting him live with me—not because I’m embarrassed about him, but because it’s so early in our … relationship. If we have a relationship. Most people don’t let someone move in that they’ve known for only a week or so.
Although people do get roommates from the internet. They just don’t usually let those roommates into their bed and sixty-nine them first thing in the morning.
Woof. That was nice.
I swallow. “I’m fine.”
With another long look at me, Noah nods. “If you ever want to talk, I’m here, and you have friends at the firm, if you need to get something off your chest.”
Am I really that obvious?
“Thanks,” I mutter, and go back to my interrogatories. My main problem is, I don’t know what I’d do for money if I left this job. I have a lot of sunk costs: My mortgage is more than a lot of people make in a month, and I don’t have that much in savings. So I’m tied to my desk like I’m on a carousel and they wrapped a leather belt around my waist. Now I have to hold on for the rest of the ride.
My phone beeps, interrupting my thoughts. “Hey, Charlie,” Shelby says. “Cormac Esmond is on line one. Do you want him to leave a message?”
Ugh. My least favorite client. And that’s saying something.
Don’t get me wrong. We have some great clients, and I’ve taken on some cool cases. I’ve done things that matter. That’s just not the majority of my work. By far.
“No,” I say. “Put him through.” No sense in delaying the inevitable.
“Charlie,” Cormac begins, “your bill is too high.”
I roll my eyes. “I can assure you my timekeeping is accurate. The bottom line is, lawsuits are expensive. There isn’t really any way around that.”
“Well, what am I getting for this? It feels like the case is going nowhere. I’m just spending all this money, and nothing is happening.”
“We are protecting your rights and being judicious about what we choose to do,” I say, using the speech I’ve already given once today to another client. But having to justify myself and my rates gets old very fast. If people didn’t get into trouble, they wouldn’t need me.
“Okay, then what’s going on with my case?”
“We’re in the middle of the discovery phase, and I’m preparing interrogatories right now. We’ll also be requesting that they send us all documents relevant to the litigation.”
“Shouldn’t that have been done already?” Cormac proceeds to tear me a new one, even though I’ve done everything I’m supposed to do.
I roll my eyes. Sure, if he were my only client—and if he actually paid my bills on time—he’d get better service. But as it is, calling me to complain that I haven’t done enough when he hasn’t paid for what I’ve done so far sits very, very wrong. “The final deadline to get it done isn’t until October,” I say instead. “We’re actually ahead of the game.”
“Hmm,” he says, harrumphing. “Can’t you poke at them? If I’m spending all this money, I want them to feel some pain, too. I’m the only one taking this seriously, and they’re getting off scot-free.”
“They aren’t getting off scot-free. It’s just not the time to get in front of a judge or jury yet. Lawsuits move slowly.”
“Well, see if you can get them to cave. Write them a nasty letter.”
My shoulders tense. I’ve done that already. But I suppose one way to get out my frustration with most of the human race is by drafting a cutting missive to opposing counsel. The problem is, it gets old when you do it every day. And while sometimes I care about the causes, other times—like now—I’m doing it just to do it. And that sucks .
“Of course,” I say, knowing that I need to be obliging to clients. Even clients who are demanding more than they’ve paid for. “I’ll send him something.” And I make a note to increase my retainer amount so this doesn’t happen again.
I type out a nasty email to the plaintiff’s lawyer and send it to Cormac for approval. Merry Christmas to us all.
Then, while I wait for him to respond, I pull out a sheet of paper and title it “Charlie Cooper’s [Next] Ten-Year Plan.”
I stare at it. The only things on my previous list that I haven’t achieved are a cat and a husband.
What do I actually want? I still want to get my hair cut regularly, and I like my clothes and house. I’m not giving up my Ad/VICE account. I’ll still call my parents.
How come the only thing that I’m thinking of adding to the list is Rowan?
That seems like a very foolish thing to do. I should be writing down a number for my 401(k). I should be hiking up Mount Whitney or getting major endorsement deals or creating my own line of products related to my videos.
My fingers itch. I really do only want to write Rowan on my plan.
I crumple the paper and throw it in the trash. It’s not the right time for me to figure out something I have to live with for another ten years.