Chapter 7
Chapter seven
Baz’s thighs were on fire.
He forced his trembling muscles to press against the stacked weights until his legs straightened.
This was his favorite moment, the peak, the undeniable proof of his strength invigorating his body.
It was why he got up at six every day before work.
With a body exhausted from being pushed to its limits, it was much easier to think.
Not that thinking had done him much good the last two days.
Grunting, he bent his knees to lower the weight down to its starting position. He climbed off the machine and wiped his face with the towel lying next to his water bottle.
Snippets of his fight with Eevee pushed themselves to the forefront of his mind. They were invasive bed bugs, biting him and keeping him up at night. Much like the pest that was Sami-fucking-Adam who had managed to attach himself to the memories with his stupid smirk and intoxicating boldness.
Baz still felt the ghost of his touch on his thigh, threatening to divert Baz’s focus from things of actual importance: the case, getting the kids justice, making partner. That was all he could allow himself to care about.
His taut muscles carried him to his office in his new Armani suit, single-breasted and woven out of grayish-blue virgin wool.
His crisp white shirt was freshly pressed; his brown dress shoes were well on their way to being worn in and would hopefully stop giving him blisters any day now.
Look the part, become the part—today, Baz needed to look like a kickass lawyer.
His priority was getting the settlement on the road, one that would suit all forty-two plaintiffs. The sooner that was done, the quicker he could forget all about those hazel eyes.
He found Aya in the kitchenette on the partners’ floor. The coffee machine hummed as it filled her favorite half-blue-half-purple mug with that heavenly treat.
“Can you get Tammy to call Ian and arrange a settlement meeting? Preferably soon.”
“Good morning to you too, Baz.”
“Will you?”
Aya glanced at him over her shoulder. Subtle golden makeup sparkled around her dark eyes, contrasting her black hijab. “Do you want her to pretend she works for you, so Ian thinks you have a secretary?”
Obviously, that was what Baz wanted. Question was: “Would she do that?”
Tammy was great at her job, attentive, proactive, an organizational genius—but she was old-fashioned. Much as her and Baz had a rapport thanks to several pastry bribes from the coffee shop next door, she wasn’t one to play games.
“No. But she might hold off mentioning that she works for me.” Aya stirred some cream into her coffee as she turned around. Her skin was glowing even under the fluorescents. How did she always manage to look so flawless? Talk about winning the genetic lottery.
“I’ll take it.”
“Consider it done. I have meetings all morning, but I’ll come by in the afternoon to discuss our offer.”
That desperate to supervise him, huh? What a vote of confidence.
Baz already had a plan, anyway. He had spent all weekend drafting it to perfection. No more playing nice. He would shut up Sami’s goddamned pretty mouth and its claims that Baz wasn’t the good guy on this case.
Aya’s eyebrows drew together. “Everything okay? You seem tense.”
“I’m fine,” Baz muttered, forcing his shoulders to relax.
“Don’t lie to me. What’s going on?”
“Nothing worth dwelling on.” His victory would say it all.
“Uh huh. Make sure your attitude gets the memo because you’re acting like someone pissed in your morning coffee.”
He did not have an attitude, thank you very much. But if his presence was that bothersome, fine, he’d leave. He had more important things to do anyway, such as reaching out to their lead plaintiff to discuss the change of plans.
Vanessa Martinez, after some initial confusion as to what caused the upheaval, did agree to follow his lead because why turn down the chance at a better offer? His thoughts exactly. Ambitious, courageous, and sensible. Toes or no toes, that woman would go far in life.
Aya joined him a few hours later, bagel in one hand—Baz’s stomach growled at the sight—and a paper bag in the other that she threw at Baz. He caught it before it hit his face; a toasted bagel with cream cheese greeted him. She was a freaking godsend sometimes.
“Thursday, two pm,“ she announced.
Did Ian think arranging a meeting so soon would make them sweat? Baz would be ready to go right now.
“At least something’s going right…”
Aya dropped into the office chair in front of Baz’s desk. “So. The settlement.”
“Already done.” He pushed the paper over. Aya licked cream cheese off her finger before picking it up. “Grash was well under. I’m demanding two million dollars per plaintiff.”
Aya huffed. “Ask for ownership of the moon while you’re at it.”
“I’m serious! I did the math on the treatment costs, plus emotional damage, all the time spent in hospitals… It adds up. If Captain Green wants to buy themselves out of their liability, that’s the price.”
“Is it? Or are you just trying to one-up Grash? Or four-up, rather.”
Why was everyone accusing him of being selfish? First, Eevee and Joel implied it, then Sami, now her!
“It’s what’s best for the clients. Their rep agreed. We’re doing this.”
“Great job, giving the girl with cancer hope for unrealistic goals.”
“Who says it’s unrealistic?”
Aya was the one who said to always shoot high in negotiations. Why the hell should he be playing it safe? Why did no one trust he knew what he was doing?
“You said Ian revoked the offer because five hundred thousand is too high.”
They both knew Ian revoked the offer because he was a petty jerk trying—and failing—to intimidate them.
“That’s not for Ian to decide, now, is it?
” Captain Green’s rep hopefully saw sense where Ian saw an opportunity to be a dick.
And if Captain Green wondered why-oh-why the amount has quadrupled since the last offer, they could take it up with their counsel.
They got new representation before; they could do it again.
Ian getting fired would be the cherry on top of the sundae that was justice.
Sighing, Aya dropped the papers onto the desk. “Is there anything you need to get off your chest, Baz?”
“No,” Baz scoffed. What was his chest to her, anyway?
“All right.” She collected her coffee and stood. “If I cared to put up with a man in a bad mood, I would have stayed married to one.”
Her done-with-this tone hit him like the sobering blast of a fire extinguisher.
“Aya—”
“Whatever it is, fix it.”
“It’s not that simple!”
“What isn’t?”
“Eevee is back in touch with our dad, okay?” Baz bit his lip.
Aya didn’t know all that happened back then—only he, Eevee, and Joel did—but she knew enough that her expression softened.
“She’s an adult. She’s allowed to make that choice, even if you don’t agree.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Are you really gonna let him come between you now? That’s not the Baz I know.”
That… Baz’s mouth fell open. He couldn’t remember how to close it again.
“Just talk to her. You’ll sort it out. Come find me when you’re in a better mood.” Her heels clacked on the floor as she strutted out.
Baz slumped into his chair and ran a hand over his face.
Just talk to her. Easy for Aya to say. He wished he could just do anything, but that wasn’t how his brain worked.
Never had. It took days, sometimes weeks, for the right words to come to his mind, for him to feel ready to have the difficult conversation.
The irony of being a trial lawyer that sucked at confrontations wasn’t lost on him. People had pointed it out all his life. Teachers, guidance counselors, they had all met his law school aspirations with a heartfelt ‘…really?’
What they failed to understand was how fundamentally different being at trial was.
With lines of questioning thought out and evidence in front of him, Baz was prepared for anything.
Trials were predictable, controllable. But there was no rulebook for fights, no thorough documentation on all of Eevee’s thoughts and feelings that could help him prep an argument or assess in what direction that conversation would go.
No, Baz had no choice but to wait until his brain deemed him ready, however long that might take.
Coffee would help. Caffeine never failed to focus his racing mind—except that Collin was currently occupying the subpar coffee machine in the kitchenette, roaring and fighting for its life to grind the beans. Such joy.
Baz suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and pretended to check a text on his phone.
“Hey, dude! I was worried you’d merged into one with your seat.” Collin snickered. He could save his smile for someone who gave a damn.
“It’s called working. You should try it.”
“You’re funny, man. Hey, how’d it go with Mrs. Tuffin?”
Mrs. Who-Now? That name sounded vaguely familiar, but Baz couldn’t identify which bell it rang. “Hm?”
“You know. The old lady who doesn’t stop talking, the one Sullivan pawned off on me, and I pawned off on you. That was today, no? I swear she just sues people because she’s lonely and wants to talk. I mean, nobody cares that her granddaughter got into Yale and never calls anymore…”
Fuck. The Small Claims Court appearance!
Whatever Collin was saying, Baz couldn’t hear over his heart drumming in his ears. He checked his calendar—forty minutes until his appointment. If he ran, he could make it in time to familiarize himself with the claim before their time slot.
He sprinted out of the kitchenette, barely managing to dodge a paralegal on his race to his office. He threw his jacket on, grabbed his briefcase, and beelined for the elevator. His legs tingled in protest. Leg day had been a terrible idea.
Baz assaulted the close doors button, hitting it over and over and over until the salvific ding came.