Chapter 2
Chapter two
The white ceramic of the sink cooled Baz’s palms. He stared at himself in the mirror as he released an exhale. One… two… three… four.
He got this.
He smothered the one runaway strand of brown hair back into place. He needed a haircut before it got too long to be tamed. His cheeks remained smooth, no sign of pesky stubble. His suit still looked pristine. This was as good as it would get.
Baz rolled his shoulders back, tightened the Windsor knot on his tie.
Whatever Erika wanted to discuss had to be good. No one ever got into trouble for a too successful trial. Right?
Erika’s office was on the top floor. A black-tiled path guided visitors from the stairs and elevator to her door, past the glass palaces of the firm’s most successful partners. Only the crème de la crème got a seat up here. Now that was the destination.
Erika stood with her arms crossed in front of the window, peering at the Chicago River below. Her black, chin-long twists framed her high cheekbones. Her rich, umber skin glowed in the sun, highlighted by the ivory pencil dress tailored to her curves. The very picture of elegance and grace.
Her secretary said to go right in. Still, Baz knocked before he pushed the door open.
Erika didn’t move a muscle. All right.
Baz swallowed. “You wanted to see me?” It came out steadier than he had dreaded. Thank you, body.
“Sebastian. Have a seat.” Her voice was a low melody, commanding despite its warmth.
He eyed up the cozy seating area that made up the other half of her office: a white leather couch, fuzzy carpet, her own coffee machine.
One day, she’d invite him to sit there, and they’d raise a glass to his promotion.
Until then, he settled on the black chair facing her. His fingertips clawed into his thigh.
Erika’s three-inch heels clacked on the floor with every slow step toward her seat. Baz forced himself to meet her brown eyes, counted to five in his head before averting his gaze—confident, but not aggressive. Yet another lesson from Aya’s school of how to be a kickass lawyer.
Her hands intertwined on the table. The crimson nails stuck out like claws.
“Have you heard of the case against Captain Green?”
“Yes?” The news that the firm was representing a group of forty-or-so cancer patients suing the most popular herbicide manufacturer in the country had been the topic of every hushed conversation when it broke.
“Then you also know that Travis Grash is the partner in charge of it.”
Baz nodded. The why was what puzzled him.
Grash, much as he had a reputation for being a shark in the old days, seemed to have mentally retired since before Baz had started working here.
These days, his work was lackluster at best. The one time Baz had been supposed to assist him on a case, he had ended up running the show by himself.
He assumed Grash still being on the payroll at all was an act of courtesy to commemorate his past achievements; how that entitled him to the fun cases remained a mystery.
“What you don’t know is that, as of this morning, Travis has decided his life will be more fulfilling on a farm in Oklahoma.
” Her tone made clear how little she thought of that.
Baz failed to suppress a snort. Sounded about right.
May Grash find his happiness there and clear the way for someone younger, sharper, still motivated.
Someone like Baz.
“Which leaves this case open and ready to settle,” Erika carried on. “It is my understanding that Travis and the opposing counsel struck a preliminary agreement already. All that’s left to do is to finalize it and get it signed. Are you the right person for the job?”
Baz’s spine snapped upright. He got to be in charge of a case that big?
“Yes!”
Erika lifted a perfect eyebrow.
Calm now, play it cool. Anything Grash could do, Baz could do better.
“Yes,” he repeated, calmer. “I’d be happy to get right to that.”
“I appreciate the enthusiasm, but I need you to understand that this is no small endeavor. There are forty livelihoods at stake, and the press will be all over it.”
Exactly. This was the kind of case only partners got their hands on. If she trusted him with bringing this settlement home, she must at least be considering bestowing that title on him.
“I understand. I will handle this with the care and professionalism you’re leading with.”
“Kissing ass. Nice touch,” Erika said, stone-faced. Sarcasm, or was she sincere? He’d have to ask Aya which was more likely. “Then it’s settled. I’ll have all of Travis’s files transferred to you.”
Just like that?
The rush of adrenaline turned his blood to honey. Today really was his lucky day. He should buy a lottery ticket on his way home.
“I promise, you won’t regret—”
“Dismissed.”
Leaving. Yes. Of course. Baz jumped to his feet.
“Thank you for this opportunity. Have the best day.” He hurried out and let the door fall shut behind him.
His face was on fire. Have the best day? He sounded like a right idiot. What a great impression to leave her with.
But—he got the case. Close to the finishing line as it might be, it had managing partner interest. Baz pressed his lips together to keep all the embarrassing happy noises locked inside. He floated down the stairs to the partners’ floor.
Tammy knew better than to stop him when he was on a mission. He crashed into Aya’s office. “Did you know she was gonna give me the case against Captain Green?”
Aya, still planted in her chair, closed a binder before she met his eyes with a smirk. “Who do you think suggested you?”
Oh, this was… she was… breathe. He needed to manage his expectations. At the end of the day, it was just a settlement he had to get signed. Not a big deal.
Not unless he could make it one.
“You’re the best. Thank you so much.”
“I know. Just don’t lose your head over this. If you need advice, ask.”
The scoff escaped before Baz could catch it, but he stood by it. “When have I ever lost my head?”
“Shafak’s client event springs to mind.”
Baz winced at the memory. Not his finest moment, he could admit that. It was supposed to be a networking event—hors d’oeuvres, live jazz, civilized conversation. The usual sucking up to rich people. Instead, Shafak had kicked professionalism out at nine pm and turned the whole thing into a disco.
Too many attendees had tried to talk to Baz over the disgustingly thunderous bass drowning out every thought. One particularly intoxicated woman had been so determined to feel him up, it took Aya ‘accidentally’ spilling her drink all over the woman’s dress for her to back off.
A horrible night.
“That was different. And you dragged me there.”
“Yes, to network, not to be glued to my side all night.”
It wasn’t his fault that they had reverted to barbarism.
“I promise I got this.” The law, cases, winning, those were his specialty. Not stupid parties.
When he got back to his office, the link to Grash’s discovery files were waiting in his inbox. The computer insisted it required twenty minutes to download the contents. Oh, come on. The firm needed to upgrade its internet provider because that was ridiculous—
His door swung open. Baz’s head yanked up just as Collin walked in, his lanky arms stretched out in greeting as if he owned the place.
He looked like the king of White frat boys in his dark chinos and pastel blue shirt and, Jesus Christ, were those boat shoes?
Was this a law firm or a party on a private yacht?
“Bazzy-boy!” he shouted. Baz flinched at the volume. It was too early in the day for the headache Collin never failed to give him.
Giving Collin the office next to his had been a cruel joke.
It was a joke to give Collin a private office at all.
Baz had worked his ass off for years, meanwhile all Collin had done was spend one weekend with a partner in Las Vegas to ‘consult with a client.’ The Monday after, a disheveled Collin, still reeking of booze, was standing in Baz’s doorframe with a grin and calling him neighbor.
A dark day in his life.
“What do you want, Collin?”
“How’d your big trial go? You win?”
That was Baz’s favorite question today.
“Yes. If you consider a fifteen-million-dollar award when my client was willing to settle for ten a win.”
Collin’s eyebrows shot up to his receding, dark blond hairline. He let out an appreciative whistle. “Damn, bro. Not bad, not bad. I bet there’s gonna be a lot of buzz around you now.” His open-mouthed grin awaited a laugh.
“Uh huh,” Baz deadpanned. He cracked his jaw to loosen it.
“Listen, now that you got that off your plate, mind helping me out with a little something? An old lady had her window broken. She’s got a date at Small Claims Court next week. Sullivan gave it to me, but I got my hands full, so… Are you my guy?”
Helping Collin with anything was low on his list of priorities, especially since his plate just got filled to the brim again.
Although… an easy billable and a chance to impress a partner that wasn’t Aya with his flexibility and camaraderie? Sullivan had been here forever. He was well-connected. Gaining his approval would go a long way toward his promotion.
“Sure.”
“Thanks, man! I appreciate you. I’ll email you the deets. Oh, and by the way, your girl Aya was looking for you earlier. In case you wanna get on that.” Collin winked and, after pointing a ridiculous finger gun at him, left.
If Aya heard him or anyone refer to her as Baz’s girl, she would verbally eviscerate them until they were nothing but a pile of ash.
She had not been made equity partner at the young age of thirty-nine—four years ago now—to be considered a senior associate’s girl. Especially not the way Collin meant it.
No one in their right mind would ever think something romantic was going on between Baz and Aya, which said a lot about Collin.
Actually, Baz suspected Aya was queer too, not that she discussed her dating life in the office.
Neither did Baz. Only Aya knew he was gay, and he hadn’t exactly told her either.
A few months into their partnership, when working for an exceptionally handsome client, she had asked if he was Baz’s type because why else was he drooling—and met his surprised “You know?” with a dry “You really think I’d let you into my house when I’m by myself if I thought you were straight?”
And sure, that made sense. All but the part where she had figured him out when no one else did. Such an impeccable gaydar required membership to the community, he was sure of it.
Admittedly, keeping his sexuality under wraps was a decision he questioned more with every one of Collin’s ‘jokes’ whenever Baz so much as talked to a woman.
He still wouldn’t come out, obviously, before that became the talk of the town too and held him back in his career.
Still, why anyone cared to make assumptions about Baz’s sex life—or current lack thereof—he would never understand.
With a sigh, Baz focused back on the screen. The download still had seventeen minutes and thirty seconds to go. Screw this. There had to be physical copies in Grash’s office.
A paralegal was already in there, stacking folders. Short, copper hair in a messy bun. What was it, Catherine? Caitlin?
“Oh, hi. I was about to drop them off at your office,” she—Karen?—said.
“Might as well save you a trip,” Baz said, looking around Grash’s old office.
Nice, big space, this. An appropriate amount of storage, unlike his office. There’d even be room for a couch in front of the low windows, offering a great view over Michigan Avenue. If this case proved to be his golden ticket, why should the work be the only thing he took over from Grash?
With that goal in mind, Baz dove right into his freshly uncovered treasure.
Forty-two plaintiffs, all diagnosed with some form of cancer, mostly with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma.
They had all been members of a youth sports club out in Dixmoor six years ago, one that used Captain Green’s herbicide to keep the multi-purpose pitch in shape.
Throughout the summer season, a lot of the then-teenagers as well as some members of the staff had complained about skin lesions.
By Christmas time, the first person received the damning diagnosis.
Different schools, different neighborhoods, different sports, even—all they had in common was the club. That seemed pretty cut and dry.
Baz flicked through the pages, and, oh boy. Grash had clearly consulted an expert for the chemistry of it all.
The illustrations of molecules had the gates guarding Baz’s brain slam shut with a hearty no thank you.
Dreaming about how he would furnish Grash’s office was much nicer—Focus.
Something legible must be hidden between the insanely long names of chemicals and paragraphs explaining their reactions… Oh, screw this.
He skipped ahead to the conclusion: extremely high levels of Tetrachlorodibenzodioxin—TCDD for short—had been found in the ground. A toxic dioxin that the International Agency for Research on Cancer labeled a known human carcinogen.
Low-level exposure was considered harmless, unavoidable even, but the contamination was so bad, the local groundwater was deemed unsafe for consumption. Baz vaguely remembered hearing that on the news a few years ago.
He skipped to the next page, to the part that explained that TCDD could emerge as a byproduct if too much heat was applied during the herbicide’s manufacturing process. And only then. Meaning, there was zero room for the opposition to argue the club was at fault for improper storage.
Why, hello, smoking gun, how nice to meet you.
No wonder Captain Green was intent on settling; the mere accusation of such an oversight must have cost them millions in business already. They must be willing to pay a pretty penny to absolve themselves from responsibility—
No way.
He frowned at the unsigned settlement agreement. Five hundred thousand dollars per plaintiff? That was nothing, considering Captain Green’s negligence had given a bunch of kids cancer, the youngest having been twelve at the time of diagnosis. Of course Captain Green would agree to this!
Grash had dropped the ball, massively. A company owned by Breme, the biggest bio-industry complex on the planet, could easily afford to hand out more than mere peanuts.
Well. Erika had only said to settle the case—she hadn’t said anything about settling for this. Baz could get a better deal. He would.
For the sake of the clients, of course.