Chapter 3
Chapter three
Waves of lukewarm coffee crashed against the insides of the mug in Baz’s jittery grip.
At some point, his phone had stopped buzzing with messages from Eevee asking when— if—he was coming, and the rising sun had swallowed the artificial white light in his office.
He ignored the pounding in his head as he reread the last note on his steadily growing list; the one about the average cost of cancer treatments.
After going through forty-two claims—the plaintiffs’ individual grievances, their diagnoses, their exposure—two things were obvious.
One, they needed to demand at least a million dollars per person.
Take Vanessa Martinez, lead plaintiff and prior up-and-coming track star who played soccer in the club.
Her unusual cancer progression had cost her all the toes on her left foot along with her running career.
That alone deserved more than a measly five hundred thousand dollars, which, frankly, was a spit in the face in this economy.
Two, this case had potential to turn into one hell of a class action lawsuit. One people would talk about for years to come. To be the one to get justice for these people who’d been robbed of so much quality of life before most of them had even graduated college would be huge.
Promotion-worthy huge.
The thought sustained him, banished the fog of exhaustion to the edges of his mind. Driving this home required razor-sharp focus, which meant no distractions, no—
“Hello.”
Baz flinched upright, searching for the source of that low purr—and found the hazel depths of a stranger’s eyes, sparkling like diamonds in the sun. His short, dark curls shimmered brown. His nose was an arrow pointing to a toothy smile, revealing a slightly crooked incisor.
Baz’s breath hitched. Holy shit.
His thighs banged against his desk as he jumped up, rattling the stationery on top. A sharp pain chased down his stiff, unsteady legs. He cleared his throat, drawing the stranger’s attention back to his face.
“Hi! Hello.”
“Are you Sebastian Hadley?” The stranger’s dark, velvety voice was deeper than his soft features let on. His tongue darted over his plump lips. Baz gave into the urge to wet his own. Dry, chapped. Shit, did he look like a mess?
Subtly as he could, he straightened out his suit. Why didn’t he have a mirror in his office? And why did this gorgeous guy have to show up after an all-nighter?
Breathe.
He got this. He could charm a jury; he could make a good impression on a handsome man too. Just so long as he didn’t think about his stale, coffee-ridden breath.
He summoned a smile as he crossed around the desk and, breathing strictly through his nose, offered his hand. “Call me Baz.”
The stranger’s palm slipped into his, soft yet solid. His bronze complexion glowed against Baz’s pale skin.
“Hi. Sami.”
Sami. With its broad ‘a’, it sounded melodic, like the start of a beautiful poem Baz couldn’t wait to hear more of.
Sami was easily four inches shorter than him, glancing up through hooded eyes.
Baz mourned the loss of connection the moment it ended. His arms buzzed from the touch. God, he needed to get laid. Soon. He didn’t care to do the math on how long it had been.
“How can I help you, Sami?” It rolled off his tongue as naturally as breathing.
“Is it true you’ve taken over the case against Captain Green?”
Well, well, well. The grapevine proved to be Baz’s friend these days, bringing exciting cases and handsome men to his doorstep.
“It is.”
“Oh, good.” Sami beamed so radiantly, he put the sun to shame.
It was good, wasn’t it? But what was it to Sami? He seemed too old to have been part of a youth club six years ago. Could he be an older brother, or a staff member?
“Give me one second.” Sami held up his index finger. With a behind like that, he could have as many as he liked…
Except that he walked away from Baz—the wrong direction—and into the hallway. Whatever happened to ‘it was good that Baz was handling the case’?
“You were right, Ian. They really were that stupid.”
Baz’s head jerked back. Something in his core froze. Who the hell was Ian and what was he right about?
Had Sami just called him stupid?
A charcoal-gray suit strutted past the glass wall.
Baz followed the trail of white pinstripes up past the ridiculous shoulder pads to the smirking face of—oh, hell no.
Ian Terell. The biggest dick to ever make partner at Hoffman Ian and his twenty years of experience didn’t have that luxury. This had payback written all over it.
“So, how’ve you been? Lost any cases recently?” Ian asked.
“Like the Harrison case three months ago,” Sami supplied, migrating to Ian’s side, one step behind. The muscle in Baz’s forearm grew taut. A shame that someone with such a pretty face was so full of shit.
“And who are you, his lapdog?”
“You have no idea,” Ian said. “We’re gonna have fun together. Isn’t that right, Sammy?”
Sami’s right nostril twitched when Ian butchered the, on second thought, barely passable melody of his name with a short, nasal ‘a.’
“I can barely hold onto myself.” Sami’s tone was dryer than the Sahara desert. “And here I was thinking we were past amateur hour.”
Who the hell was he calling an amateur? Oh, Baz hoped they really were Captain Green’s new rep so he could wipe the arrogance off their faces with his impending victory.
“This double act is cute and all, but I have important work to attend to. So. Go away.”
“Actually,” droplets of spit flew from Ian’s mouth, “we’re here on business.”
“Then you should have made an appointment.”
Ian stepped closer. Not leaving. Dick.
“You see, I’ve been reviewing the evidence, and I think this agreement our colleagues struck overstates the gravity of the damage done.”
Baz scoffed. “By ‘damage,’ do you mean your client’s product giving forty people cancer and putting two in an early grave?”
“Did it? Because last time I checked, there’s no research that definitively proves my client’s product could even cause this tragic epidemic. What’s to say it wasn’t the asbestos in the walls?”
“The club house was built in 1947. Very common back then,” Sami added.
“Or the toxic paint they used on the remodel five years ago. That might have something to do with it.”
Sami nodded. “Trichloroethylene takes forever to break down. So difficult to air out.”
“Uh huh,” Baz said. “And how exactly does asbestos or paint pollute the groundwater?”
“Who’s to say it wasn’t polluted before? No one checked until these dramatized allegations surfaced. So hard to prove these things beyond reasonable doubt.” Ian shook his head with a what-to-do sigh.
Of course he would say that. Ian Terell was the literal, biblical devil. He would snatch candy from a baby if it got him ahead. In fact, he would take the baby’s blanket too and leave it to die of hypothermia just to see the heartbreak on the parents’ faces. Well, not on Baz’s watch.
“I won’t let you screw people with cancer out of the money they deserve.”
“You won’t let me?” A mocking laugh colored Ian’s words as he tugged at the lapels of Baz’s suit. Baz swatted his hands away. “I don’t think you understand how this works. You’re a child, Sebastian. And I’m looking forward to embarrassing you again.” Ian’s wink made bile rise into Baz’s throat.
Ian turned on his heel. “Sammy. We’re leaving.” He released a high-pitch whistle that rang in Baz’s ear.
Sami didn’t move. His smile was a blossom of oleander—beautiful to look at, but Baz felt the itch of its toxic sting. “It was so fun meeting you.”
“Be a good boy. Run after your master.”
“Now there’s something I’ve never been called before.” Sami pumped his eyebrows. Easy to believe no one had ever called him good. How could he be, when he worked for the devil?
“See you soon, Baz.”
Sami’s suit puckered around his thighs when he left. Cheap. Exactly like this whole attack.
They wanted a fight? Great. Baz wasn’t the same idiot he had been four years ago. He’d make Ian and his sidekick regret taking a swing at him.
Aya caught the door before it closed, looking after Ian as she came in. Baz hadn’t noticed her approach.
Her eyebrows drew together on her rudely well-rested face, framed by a sky-blue hijab. “Was that Ian Terell? What was that all about?”
“That,” Baz popped the t, “was a declaration of war.”
“Come again?”
Baz pinched the bridge of his nose—and felt gunk sitting in the corner of his eye that he swiftly wiped away. Had that been there the whole time? Shit.
He should have just gone home. He could have ensnared gourmet food from Eevee and Joel and been spared this pathetic sideshow. Or at least looked more attractive during it.
Not that he had wasted an opportunity here. Sami’s alliance was clear, and touch starved as Baz might be, he would not sink that low.
Aya nodded along to his recap. “And here I was thinking the biggest challenge would be to keep you from blowing this out of proportion.”
She thought—hey! “I would never do that.”
Her cut-the-crap glare silenced him. Fine. But his intentions were pure, unlike theirs.
None of this made a difference, anyway. He had been determined to bring his A-game, regardless of who the opposition was. He said as much to Aya.
“If you think Ian jumped on this opportunity to spite you, then it does change things. We know he plays dirty.”
“I don’t think that,” Baz lied. “Why would he be hung up on a draw from years ago?”
“Because Ian Terell has the emotional bandwidth and impulse control of a toddler?”
Well, yes, there was that. Paired with an unfortunately bright mind, it had turned him into one of the most aggressive, successful attorneys in the city. But that didn’t mean he would best Baz. Ian’s tricks couldn’t change the facts, no matter how many straws he and Sami clutched at.
“I can handle him,” Baz declared. Both of them.
“Not like this, you can’t. Freshen up, get something to eat. I’ll look into this.”