Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Walker
“Did you hear the rumors?” Pierce asks as I make another cup of coffee in the break room.
I don’t even look up, sure he’s going to keep talking, like usual.
“There’s a class action lawsuit underway against one of the largest pharmaceutical companies in the country.”
There he goes again, though I am intrigued by this information.
“What’s the number they are coming at them with?” I ask nonchalantly.
We may pretend to be indifferent, but both of us know this could be big bucks.
I grab my cup of coffee and turn around.
Pierce is smirking at me knowingly. “Five hundred million.”
Fuck. Winning a case like this could set my reputation for life. If won, the payout alone would be insane. He knows I want it. I know he wants it.
That is, if Stewart and Henry win over the client. They are the majority-owned partners of the firm. Two men in their sixties, who started this firm thirty years ago.
Pierce and I only have a small amount of equity in the company. We don’t get a say in who gets assigned these cases. There are three of us that it would come down to.
Pierce, Cody, and me.
“Let’s hope Stewart and Henry bring them in. It’d be a huge win for the company.”
“I look forward to seeing who they see fit to take over the case,” Pierce eyes me contentiously.
I clap him on the shoulder. “May the best man win.”
I know he wants to shrug me off of him, but he stands tall and proud, like we’re the best of buds.
It’s survival of the fittest up here on the fifty-second floor of Decker and Maxfield.
The polished glass walls don’t just reflect city lights; they mirror every ambition, every calculated smile, every late-night strategy to climb higher.
Associates hover like sharks, sensing weakness, ready to pounce on a dropped client or missed deadline.
Even partners like Pierce and me circle each other, alliances shifting with billable hours and courtroom wins. There are no friends here, only competitors in expensive suits. You either bill like a machine, bringing in million-dollar clients, or get replaced by someone who can.
In this place, loyalty is a myth, and rest is a liability.
I stroll back to my office with a spring in my step and a new objective—find Stewart and Henry to remind them who their best attorney is.
First things first. I need more information on the case that’s being brought against them.
I halt at my assistant, Bradly’s, desk just outside of my office.
“I need you to look into a possible class action lawsuit being filed against one of the leading pharmaceutical companies based here in the US. See if you can find out which company it is against.”
Bradly nods his head. “Sure thing, Mr. Harlow. I’ll let you know what I find.”
Once inside of my office, I close my door and slide off my jacket. I don’t have to be in court today, so it’ll be a bit of a slow-paced kind of day.
I stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling window of my office, the city sprawled beneath me like the board of a game I’m determined to win.
This case is my shot—the kind of high-profile litigation that could elevate me to a top-tier partner with more equity in the firm. I could be a legend in the industry.
I want it. I need it.
Though this is what I live for, I feel my body coiled too tight. What I need is a good lay. No strings, no morning-after-brunch nonsense—just sweat-slicked skin and a moan that would chase away the stress for a few hours.
I have numbers. Hell, half the women in this building would jump at the chance.
But it could be a distraction. Winning this case is what matters. It’s not about the money that would come with it—I have enough money. It’s about the power and prestige. This opportunity is exactly what my parents would want. A reason to brag about his son at the club.
Not sure where that came from. I haven’t thought much about pleasing my parents in a while. It’s been an itch of mine that I’ve realized is futile. Nothing impresses them or makes them proud. It’s just not in their DNA.
None of that matters now. What I need to do is put my head down today and figure out who the company is. I need to find out what connection I have to them to ensure I’m the one they ask for.
It’s been a day. Not only did Bradly figure out the company that is being sued, but he also got the intel that they are, in fact, speaking with us and one other firm. Stewart and Henry must be keeping this under wraps until they know for sure.
That gives me time to figure out how I’m going to convince them that I’m their guy. I’ve never represented a pharmaceutical company this large, but I have taken on class action lawsuits. Never on this scale before.
I walk down Park Avenue as the sun begins to set in the distance. I’m starving. I opted to skip dinner and work late, preparing for a case I’m trying to settle.
It’s nothing new. Working late is part of the job. I’m not paid millions to work forty hours a week.
I pull at the tension on the back of my neck. My body has been starting to hold a lot of stress—more than usual. I just need to run on the treadmill in my gym. It’ll help ease some of the muscles.
Whenever I get the time, I want to have a sauna installed in my bathroom. If I’m going to kill myself working, I might as well use some of the money to take the edge off.
I keep my head down as I walk through the lobby of my building. I hate running into some of the tenants. There are women who live in the apartments here that no doubt know I have the penthouse. They like to bat their lashes at me.
I love pussy, but not if they show signs of becoming clingy.
I ride the elevator up to the top floor and unlock my door without regarding my surroundings. Just as I’m about to close the door, I hear someone call my name.
“Walker.” The soft voice comes from the hallway.
At first, I think I’m hearing things, but then there’s the distinguishable sound of a baby starting to cry.
I open the door to the hall, and a woman I recall spending the night with a while back is bouncing a baby back and forth as tears run down her face.
“She just woke up,” she says to me as I try to figure out why on earth she is telling me this like I’m supposed to do something about it.
Her name finally dawns on me. Amelia. A model I fooled around with for a couple of weeks. A cold chill runs the length of my body as I stare at the baby in her arms.
“Amelia,” I say with a suddenly dry throat. “What is going on?”
“I can’t do this anymore,” she cries, barely able to speak. “I thought I was doing the right thing, keeping her, but it’s just … too much.”
She takes a step toward me, but instinct has me backing away.
“Amelia, what are you saying?”
Her shoulders fall like she can’t believe I’m going to make her say it. Whatever food is in my stomach from lunch begins to swirl around, threatening to come up.
“Walker … she’s yours.”
I grab the doorframe as my world flips upside down with two words. “She’s yours.”
“I’m sorry. It’s too much. I can’t work with her. She’s always crying,” she rambles on while I begin to sweat even though I feel cold. “Childcare is insane, and nobody wants a baby at a modeling shoot. She’s … she’s ruining my life. You have money. Family. She’s better off with you.”
Before I say a word, she places the baby in my arms. Instead of waiting for the elevator, she pushes the door open and takes off down the stairs.
“Everything you need is in the diaper bag.” She shouts her final words at me.
“Amelia,” I yell once I find the ability to speak again, but it’s too late.
She’s gone.
A loud shriek comes from the baby in my arms, and for the first time, I look down at my daughter. I don’t know what the hell to do. Instinct takes over, and I start to bounce her up and down like I see Eva do with my niece, but it only makes her cry harder.
“Shh,” I say as I look around the hallway.
There’s what appears to be a stroller and the diaper bag. I grab the bag, ditching the stroller as I walk back into my place.
I place the bag on my kitchen table. With my one free hand, I look to see what’s inside. Diapers, wipes, clothes, empty bottles, and a big can of something. I lift it up and read the front. Formula.
Is she hungry? How do I even feed her this stuff? I open the lid to find a bunch of powder inside. Powder. What am I supposed to do with that?
I try to read the instructions, but nothing is getting through to my brain as her screams become louder. I can’t think, can’t focus. Her face is now red, and her tiny hands are squeezed into fists, like she might actually punch me if I can’t get my shit together and figure out what she needs.
Sweat forms above my brows as my hands begin to tremble. Okay, I can do this.
I take a deep breath and read the can. Two ounces of formula per four ounces of water. What the hell is even an ounce?
I stare at her, then at the can, then at her. She’s in complete hysterics now, like she knows she was left with the most incompetent person on the planet.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper to her desperately. “I don’t know how to be your father.”
My heart thunders in my chest. My throat tightens, making it hard to breathe.
I need to call someone. I can’t do this alone right now. My parents would freak out if I told them about this. Just another thing to ruin their image.
Eva. My baby sister. She would know what to do. She has one of these of her own. Shit. I can’t put this on her. Roman told me she was struggling with adjusting to the lack of sleep, not getting nearly as much as she needs.
This is the last thing I want to put on her.
I open my phone and scroll through my Contacts, all while the screams hit levels I didn’t know were possible.
But all I see are clients. Business associates. Friends. Hookups. None of these people will do.
Then I come across her number. I only have it because she’s my sister’s best friend and we connected while Eva was in the emergency room a while back.
But she does know babies—I assume. She must at least know more than I do.
Does she hate me?
Yes.
Does she have reason to?
Yes.
Do I have any other option at this point?
No.
I click on her name, Jessie Turner, and place the phone to my ear. I try to bounce the baby up and down as I walk around the room.
She answers on the third ring. “Walker?”
“Jessie …” I breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank God you answered.”
“What’s going on? What’s that noise in the background? Is that a baby?”
“Yes. I need your help.”
“Is that Addie? Are you at Eva’s? Oh my God. Is everything okay? They wouldn’t let you babysit, would they?”
I take serious offense to that. Why wouldn’t my sister trust me to babysit my niece? Then I look down at my own daughter, wailing in my arms.
“No, Jessie. I’m not watching Addie. I just …” I struggle to get the words out. “Can you come over?”
There’s a moment of silence. I look down at my phone to see if I lost the call.
“Jessie?” I ask desperately.
“I’m here. Sorry. I’m, um … you want me to come over?”
“I promise I’ll explain when you get here. I really need someone. Please. I’m begging you.”
“Uh, yeah. Sure.”
Instantly, there’s a sliver of relief that forms in the pit of my stomach. Though the screaming baby prevents any type of real relief.
“Oh, thank you. Thank you!”
“Sure. Uh, where do you live?”
I don’t know why that makes me stop in my tracks. “You don’t know where I live?”
She sighs audibly. “No, Walker. Not every woman in the city is obsessed with you. Some of us couldn’t care less about things like where you rest your head at night.”
“Hilarious. I live on Park Avenue—432. Penthouse on the ninety-first floor. Please,” I beg as the baby continues to wail.
I am starting to wonder if something happens to a baby if they cry too long. What if I hurt her?
“Hurry,” I add.
“I’m coming, Walker.”
The phone goes dead. I throw it on the couch and look down at my daughter. I’m the worst father in history. Not even five minutes with her, and she’s hated every second of it. I don’t blame her. I wouldn’t want to be around me either.
Ten minutes later—the longest ten minutes of my life—a knock at my door has me nearly tripping over my own feet to get to it. I open the door, breathing heavily. Jessie stands in front of me in jean shorts and a yellow tank top.
Even with a screaming baby in my arm, I notice how good she looks. She always does.
“Thank God you’re here.” I open the door all the way.
She follows me into my place as I lead her to the kitchen where every bottle and its pieces are scattered all over the counter.
“How do you feed a baby formula?” I ask as I grab a handful of items and let them fall back down. “What is all of this stuff?”
“Walker …” Jessie ignores my question and stares at me like I’ve lost my damn mind. She would, too, if she were in my position. “Why do you have a baby in your arms?”
“She’s … my daughter.” The words feel strange to say out loud.
Her eyes bug out of her head. “You have a daughter?” She starts to stutter over her words. “H-h-h-how? When?”
I’m in no mood for these kinds of questions. Now is not the time.
I look down at the baby. “Jessie, can we talk about that later? Why won’t she stop crying?”
She rolls her eyes—rolls her damn eyes at me like I’m the problem. “Give her to me.”
I obey and hand her over. She places her against her chest and tucks the baby’s head under her chin, where I was holding her like a football. She doesn’t exactly stop crying, but it’s definitely not at the decibel it was when she was in my arms.
I feel irritated by that.
“Okay,” Jessie says calmly. “Read the back of the can. How many scoops to ounces?”
What the hell? How does she already know about that shit? She must have babysat a lot. This is not common knowledge.
“Two scoops to four ounces. How much is four ounces?”
“It’s on the bottle. We just need to fill the water up to the four-ounce line, then put in two scoops.”
Of course it’s on the bottle. If I’d had a moment of silence, I would have been able to figure that out.
“Now what?” I ask once I’m done.
“You need to put that bottle nipple into the disc and insert that blue tube under the disc. Close it up. Shake. We can see if she’s okay with colder water. If not, we need to heat it up.”
Just as I’m done shaking it, she tries to hand the baby to me.
I back away. “What are you doing?”
“I’m giving you your daughter back.”
I shake my head back and forth like a toddler throwing a tantrum. “She doesn’t like me.”
I think I detect a brief moment of sympathy from Jessie before annoyance takes over. “Come here. Let’s go sit on the couch.”
I follow behind her, not sure how I’m going to get through the evening. What if she leaves me? I’ll die. She can’t leave me.