Chapter 31 #2
He mirrored my lean from his side of the bar and shout-whispered above the din, “Even after I attacked you in my office?”
“Especially after you attacked me in your office.”
His cheeks flushed, and he smiled. “Good. That’s—good.”
We stared at each other for a moment. The bar was chaos around us with noise and bodies and demands for drinks, but right there, in that small space between us, everything was quiet.
Then Finn did something I didn’t expect.
He leaned across the bar—all the way across, ignoring the sticky surface and the half-empty glasses—and kissed me.
And holy shit, it wasn’t a polite, quick peck one might give a friend who’s calling it a night. Oh, no. This was a real kiss, just like we’d seen at the end of the TV show, deep and thorough and very public.
The bar erupted.
“AWWWW!”
“GET IT, FINN!”
“THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT!”
“WHO NEEDS HORNY RIVALS WHEN WE HAVE HORNY BARTENDERS?”
That last one drew a round of cheers I felt in my bones.
“YO, BOSS!” Jacks’s voice cut through the noise, loud and enthusiastic. “ABOUT DAMN TIME, MAN!”
“OH MY GOD, FINALLY!” Benji was shrieking from somewhere down the bar. “I’ve been watching this slow burn for weeks, and it was killing me!”
The guy next to me with the chest hair planted a furry paw on my back and patted me like I was one of his cubs who’d just performed a particularly cute trick.
Finn pulled back, his face now bright red, his eyes wide as though he couldn’t believe he’d just done that.
I didn’t care about the guys or giant next to me or even the teasing from Finn’s gang.
I just smiled.
I couldn’t help it.
“Text me later?” I said.
“Yeah. Yes. Definitely.”
“Good.”
I winked—actually winked, like I was in a bad Lifetime rom-com and had lost control of my facial expressions—and turned to leave.
The crowd parted, people grinning at me, a few guys calling out encouragement as I made my way to the door.
Even more clapped me on the shoulder like I’d just scored the winning goal in the Lightning game.
I stepped out into the Tampa night, grinning like an idiot, my lips still tingling from Finn’s kiss with the sound of Benji’s chaos still echoing behind me.
Tomorrow I had work and meetings and then more work. I had the Patterson mediation that I’d overprepared for. But tonight, I’d been kissed by a beautiful Irish bartender in front of a building full of witnesses, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been so happy.
Monday morning came way too early. As promised, The PK stayed with me, reminding me of my evening’s misadventures—and the evils of alcohol.
I arrived at my desk by seven-thirty, coffee in hand, going over my notes one last time. The mediation itself was in Conference Room A—the big one with the long table and uncomfortable chairs that made everyone want to leave as quickly as possible. The Pattersons arrived at 8:55.
Mr. Patterson looking grim.
Mrs. Patterson looking grimmer.
Bob and Catherine handled the introductions while I set up my notes, organized the documents, prepared for the worst.
The first hour was what we’d expected, a tense, uncomfortable exchange with both parties dug in on their positions. Mr. Patterson wanted to keep the investment property in Austin. Mrs. Patterson wanted it sold and the proceeds split. Both had valid arguments. Neither wanted to compromise.
I’d seen this dance a hundred times.
“What if,” I said during a break, “we looked at this differently?”
Both Pattersons turned toward me.
So did Bob and Catherine.
It was the first time I’d spoken since the true conflict had begun.
“The Austin property is worth approximately $400,000,” I continued.
“Mr. Patterson wants to keep it for investment purposes. Mrs. Patterson wants liquidity. What if we structured this so Mr. Patterson keeps the property but compensates Mrs. Patterson with $200,000 from his retirement account? That way she gets liquid assets now, he keeps the property, and we avoid the capital gains tax hit from selling.”
Silence.
Then Mrs. Patterson said, “I would . . . consider that.”
Mr. Patterson frowned. “That’s a significant portion of my retirement—”
“But you’d keep the property,” I pointed out. “Which you’ve said multiple times is important to you. The retirement account is pre-tax, so the actual impact is less than $200,000 when you factor in tax implications down the road.”
More silence.
“I need to think about it,” Mr. Patterson said.
“Of course. Take your time.”
We took another break. I went to the bathroom, splashed water on my face, and tried to remember when I’d become someone who enjoyed negotiation.
When I came back, the Pattersons were talking—actually talking to each other.
They weren’t yelling or glaring. They were sitting at the conference table talking quietly, Mrs. Patterson occasionally sipping from the bottle of water bearing the firm’s logo.
By noon, we had an agreement.
Mr. Patterson kept the Austin property. Mrs. Patterson got $200,000 from his retirement account plus an additional $50,000 from the joint savings. They agreed to split the rest of the marital assets fifty-fifty.
And then—this had never happened in the year I’d been doing this—Mrs. Patterson stood up and hugged Mr. Patterson.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For being reasonable.”
“You, too,” he replied.
He held the door for her as they left together. I knew they weren’t friends again, but they weren’t enemies anymore, either. I took that as a win.
Catherine waited until they were gone before turning to me. “That was excellent work, Chase.”
“Really excellent,” Bob agreed.
“Thank you.”
“Keep this up and we’ll be talking about making you a junior partner sooner than we planned.”
I blinked. “I—thank you. That’s—”
“Don’t let it go to your head. There’s a long road between here and there.” Catherine smiled. “But good work today. Really.”
They left for their own offices, and I headed back to my converted sunroom, still stunned.
Junior partner. I hadn’t misheard them. They’d actually said “junior partner” aloud.
I sank into my chair, pulled out my phone, and found a text string from Finn waiting.
Finn: So I kissed you in front of like 180 people last night.
Finn: That was probably not the smartest business decision.
Finn: But I’m not sorry.
Finn: Also good morning.
Finn: How’s your Monday?
Finn: Miss me yet?
Finn: This is too many texts, isn’t it?
Finn: Shit, Priya just caught me and is threatening to bash my phone with a rolling pin.
Finn: I’m going to stop now.
I smiled and started typing.
Me: Good morning. For the record, I kissed you in front of like 180 people, too.
Me: Monday’s going well. Just finished a mediation that went better than expected.
Me: And for the record, I liked the kiss. Like, really liked it. Make me stop saying “like.”
Finn: Yeah? You really liked it?
Me: Yeah. Best part of my weekend.
Finn: Better than the office?
Me: Oh, um . . . unfair question. Different good.
Finn: Fair.
Me: When can I see you again?
Finn: Tonight? Tomorrow? Literally whenever you’re free?
Me: Tomorrow. Dinner? Actual dinner, not bar food.
Finn: Like a real date on a Tuesday night?
Me: Like a real date.
Finn: We don’t have any events tomorrow, so I can leave Mark and Benji alone without worrying they’ll blow the place up.
Me: I’d really like that. The dinner thing, not the blown up bar.
Finn: Me, too.