Chapter 2 Nobody Likes Lawyers
Nobody Likes Lawyers
brIGIT
"What do you mean the buyer wants them to pay their closing costs?" I scoff. "Now? That's something they should have negotiated weeks ago. Not two days before closing."
"I know," Antoine sinks into the chair across from me.
He shrugs, smoothing his hair down against his scalp in a soothing, nervous gesture I've become attuned to over the last three years we've worked together.
"Their lawyer seemed even more pissed than my clients are going to be.
She told me that she mentioned the possibility of seller concessions six times over the last several months as they've been making offers and they only now have decided they deserve it because one of their uppity friends said she wouldn't let a seller take advantage of her that way. "
"So what are you going to do?" I ask, scrolling through the already prepared contract for the sixth time.
He sighs, "What can I do at this point?"
I look back at my friend, noting the vein pulsing in his forehead at the prospect of this deal falling through. His dark brown eyes shift around the office, looking for anything to put his attention on besides his worry.
"Well, there's no chance your clients will agree to pay that money now. Nor should they. Tell their agent that they're welcome to pull out of the sale and we'll have the breach of contract filed and served by E.O.D."
Narrowing his eyes, he looks at me suspiciously, "You knew this would happen."
"Of course, I didn't," I sigh, folding one leg over the other and switching from one document to the next.
"But I like to be prepared for anything.
It's not the first, or the last, time someone got a little greedy.
Don't call your clients. Not yet. Let's not pop their bubble if we don't have to.
The terms are already laid out, if the buyer pulls out now, they forfeit a lot more money than the closing costs. Just make sure their agent knows that."
He nods, placing his hands on his knees to stand, "I'll call them."
"Okay. Do you want me to sit in on the call? Just in case?" It also wouldn't be the first time an agent threatened to sue, and that's an immediate conversation ender. As soon as the words sue, legal, litigation, or lawyer are uttered, I become the only person they're allowed to speak to.
Deep down, I like that finality. I enjoy knowing that at the end of the day, if things go terribly wrong, I'm the solution. And often, the problem.
Nobody likes lawyers.
Nobody wants to deal with them anymore than they have to.
Especially in an industry like mine.
Real Estate law is exceptionally boring. It's the same contracts with minor changes over and over again. It's a lot of reading and rereading and rerereading, searching for blind spots in contracts that I didn't write myself.
On the infrequent occasion that I need to step in for something major, it's handled quickly and efficiently. Then I can go back to being the invisible threat sitting in a wall-to-wall windowed office on the 34th floor, looking over the entire city from my perch.
"Nah," Antoine grins, walking backward out my doorway. "I don't need you flexing your lawyer muscles and scaring off my paycheck."
As he vanishes around the corner, my assistant, Kelly, pops her head up over her desk, bright blue gaze not so subtly watching as all six feet and six inches of Antoine struts down the open hallway to his own office on the other end.
I can't blame her, really.
I'm sure his great big puppy-dog eyes and sweet face, coupled with all the muscle and stunning, deep brown skin, catch far more attention than such a kindhearted guy like him can handle.
Kelly is nice enough, but I have a sneaking suspicion she would eat him alive, and he wouldn't have a single clue what to do with himself.
She slides out of her chair, heels clicking against the floor as she enters my office, her eyes still locked on the hall as she toys with her wildly curly blonde lengths, hoping to catch one last glimpse of him.
When her attention finally falls on me, her lips lift on one side, "Do you need me to tell you what else you have going on today?"
I smile, holding back a chuckle, “Go ahead.”
She launches into what the rest of my day holds, even though both of us know we don't really need this daily run-through. I have the rest of my month already planned, everything slotted into its place.
But this check-in makes me feel a little more connected to the world around me, and Kelly knows I need that sometimes.
I spend too much time staring at my screen, trying not to forget that on the other end of all this tedious law-speak, there are people who are affected by every word on the paper they sign, good or bad.
If I forget the humanity behind my job, I may as well quit. I won't be doing anybody any favors.
"Well, you have a meeting with the Harpoon developers and city zoning board for that new multi-use space. Then lunch with your parents."
Not my parents.
My mom and her seventh husband. But that's neither here nor there.
"Then this afternoon you have to draw up contracts for the environmental protection procedures for that chemical company that thinks they want to move their processing plant here."
They don't. The laws are going to make it extremely inconvenient and expensive for them to do anything. They'll spend an hour or two looking over the city's requirements and decide it's not lucrative enough to set up shop here.
A few people will grumble about overreach and how our protective laws are preventing a huge company from creating jobs, but they wouldn't be qualified for those jobs anyway. They just want to complain about something.
"And then?" I ask, knowing that on her end, there's going to be a great big empty spot for the rest of the evening.
Kelly usually keeps track of all of my appointments, both personal and professional. And she gets paid exceptionally well to do so.
But there are a few things I keep to myself.
"Oooh, a hot date?" She quirks an immaculate, sharp brow. "Are you hiding someone from me?"
I laugh, standing to grab my things before heading to my morning zoning meeting.
"Of course not," I assure her as she hands me a black folder full of everything I need. "I just need a break tonight. A calm night in with no expectations whatsoever."
I'm lying through my teeth. But I don't think Kelly would approve of the things I'll be taking part in tonight.
The zoning meeting flies by, almost surely because I'm dreading what comes afterwards.
The builders and the city are basically on the same page about expectations and limitations. Finally, a company that's done its research before showing up.
It'll be a beautiful, multi-level space with rentable cubicles, a coffee shop on the bottom level, large venue space spanning the top floor, and a rooftop garden.
It's very straightforward, and we all stiffly thank each other for our time before going our separate ways.
As I slide into my black car, a small SUV, I check my phone.
A groan slips out when I see the text from my mom.
Janet
CHANGE OF PLANS. MEETING HERE INSTEAD!
Why am I not surprised?
Mom can never stick to one thing. Now, I'll have to drive all the way across town, rather than right down the street like we agreed.
When I finally arrive, my mom and current stepdad have already been seated and served at least two drinks.
"Honey," Janet coos, standing and placing her hands on my cheeks, her long red nails nearly scratching my eyes out. "Why are you so late? I thought we agreed on one o clock?"
I take a calming breath. We did. We also agreed on meeting somewhere more convenient for both of us.
"My meeting ran late," I take her hands in mine, removing her frigid fingers from my face. It's easier to lie to her than try to get her to take even a crumb of accountability. My eyes land on her husband, "Good to see you, Seth."
"Seth?" Mom laughs. "Come on, honey. That's your stepfather, just call him dad."
I won't be doing that.
I sink into my chair across from them, watching with barely concealed disgust as my mom runs her arms over his shoulders, her fingers drifting into his shirt as if we aren't all sitting in a very public place.
I'm not a drinker during the day, and certainly not when I'm going to be driving, but watching my mom fondle a man I hardly know nearly makes me wish I were.
She dives into it without preamble. "We're so sorry you didn't get an invite to the wedding, honey, I just know how busy you are.
I didn't think you'd want to step away from your super important big girl job to celebrate on a Thursday afternoon.
" The words themselves may not be an insult, but her sickly sweet tone as she calls my career a big girl job makes my skin heat.
She doesn't take what I do seriously. She doesn't take anything seriously, if we're being honest.
Not jobs.
Not marriages.
Not even motherhood.
I smile, taking a sip of my water and waiting for the server to come give me something, anything else to focus on. "It's okay, mom. I understand. I'm just happy you're happy."
And I am.
I just wish her happiness would last.
Janet has always been fickle, at best.
Ruled by her emotions to the detriment of herself and everyone around her.
The first time any man dares to so much as ask of her what she expects of them, her happiness with them fades. And fast.
Seth seems nice enough. But her lovey-dovey act, the one where she sticks her tongue in his throat even when I'm in the middle of speaking to them, it'll end the moment he questions a single one of her whims.
It doesn't help that this one is probably closer to my age than hers. In the end, it'll only make the fallout worse.
But it's her life, and I only have to tiptoe into it once every few months to check in these days. That's the arrangement that seems to work best for both of us.