“What are you talking about?”Woman in a grocery store with curlers in her hair?“Lawyers don’t need to know if the people they’re defending are guilty or innocent. They’re not the judge. They’re just supposed to represent their client. And that’s what I’m asking you to do.”
“Are there lawyers involved? Because if so, I’ll need their names.” She sits up straight and resumes typing on her computer like a maniac.
“That’s irrelevant. I was using it as an example.” There are lawyers from Foundations involved in this mess, but again, that’s beside the point.
“In any case, I’m not a lawyer. We don’t have lawyer-client privilege here and I’m certainly under no obligation to do this.”
“You’re under no obligation, but you’d be foolish to turn down the money.”
She looks like she’s counting to ten in her head. Finally, “I have a form you’d need to fill out in which you explain what you did so I can best help you. It’s just a simple form.”
She must notice how having to detail everything out fills me with dread. Having evidence like that floating around? No way.
“Mr. Tate, you’re a baby bird.”
A baby bird? “Well, I’ve been called worse, so—"
“You’re flying into a glass window over and over again, banging your head against it, refusing to listen to the mama bird who’s telling you which way to fly, how to get out of the mess—”
“And you’re the mama bird, I take it.”
“Exactly.”
I try to conceal a chuckle, but I’m not successful because she glares at me. She stands, and her gaze goes to the picture frame. “Can I see your photo?”
I sigh. It was an odd thing to do, bringing this in with me. I just came from Foundations, where I met with my dad again. Was I groveling to get my job back? Sort of. Whatever it was, hisresponse involved returning this medallion to me . . . by way of tearing it off his office wall and chucking it past me at the door.
“It was my dad’s.” I chew my bottom lip, then: “I gave it to him, and he decided to give it back.” I hand over the framed gold plastic medallion with a thick red, white, and blue ribbon threaded through the top with “World’s Best Dad” embossed on the front. It’s mounted on black, velvet paper. I hadn’t noticed the glass cracked when he threw it. “I was eleven. My aunt Stella took me to a trophy shop to get it.”
Her brows knit together as she stares at it and a soft “oh” escapes her lips.
We stand there, me feeling pathetic and River looking like,Wow. What do I even say now?I shrug, take it back from her, and tuck it under my arm.
“Sorry,” she says. “You know what? I once found a tool set I’d drawn on paper in my dad’s trash the day after I gave it to him.” She grimaces. “Not that it’s the same. And hey, I wouldn’t have wanted a hammer and screwdriver made out of notebook paper either. I mean, come on.”
She smooths her hair and then slides both of her hands down her sides, straightening her dark green suit. I’m not looking—exactly—but the color looks good with her chocolate eyes. “I’m late for a meeting, Mr. Tate.” Her expression softens even more. “My advice would be to get clear about what you want. What are your goals? What’s the desired outcome? And then contact a private firm in Denver, someone who’s better equipped to handle—” She makes a circling motion with her hand at me, as if to sayAllthis. “Whatever it is you need handled.” She perks a smile before walking past me in her heels and opening the door.
This is not how I thought this would go at all.
I’m a Tate. Love us or hate us, and trust me, we have plenty of people on either side, but being turned down is not in our comfort zone.
Still, I’m patient. I’m not feeling like myself these days. I haven’t been feeling like myself in thirty-seven days, to be exact.
The way my dad responds when he doesn’t get what he wants? He pushes harder.
But I’m not my dad. I can be patient.
I nod and try to arrange my tired face into a smile. “Can I ask you for one thing, though?”
River huffs out a breath. “Of course.” But she sounds wary, and truly, I don’t blame her.
“Here’s my number.” I hand her my card, and she bunches up her mouth as she takes it. “And don’t rule me out?” I smile and then dip my gaze to the floor. “Just don’t close the door on me yet.”
Her dark eyes growing wide, she does a little sidestep as she surveys me, her mouth twisting to one side. “I can’t keep a door open that you haven’t even unlocked yet.” She gives an icy, professional smile then tilts her head back, likeI’m done with you now.
I can do nothing except give a polite smile of my own and leave her office. But I don’t turn left to go into the lobby. I take a few steps down the corridor to the right and duck out the back door, relieved I didn’t run into any of my brothers.
There are a few things you need to understand about this situation.