Page 33 of The Forbidden Billionaire Attorney

“Hey, buddy. It’s Dad. I heard about what happened.” When he doesn’t respond, I keep going. “You know, Caleb, those kids are just a bunch of insecure—” I start, ready to impart some fatherly wisdom about bullies and their own insecurities.

But Isabella cuts me off with a gentle hand on my arm. “Adrian,let me try?”

I step back, giving her space. Part of me wants to argue, to say that I’m his dad, I should fix this. But another part of me—probably the smarter part—knows that Isabella might just have the right touch for this. So I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat, watching as she kneels by the stall door, her voice low and soothing.

Isabella crouches down, her eyes level with the tiny gap beneath the stall door. “Caleb,” she says, and it’s like she’s got this superpower to make her voice sound like a warm blanket—something I’ve never managed. “It’s Isabella King. You remember me, right?”

“Yes,” he whimpers. “What are you doing here?”

“I work with your dad. We just got out of a meeting when your teacher told us what happened. Say … did you know that your missing tooth makes you unique?”

“Unique” is not the word I’d use. Heck, I was about to launch into a lecture on bully psychology. But Isabella’s got the floor now.

“Like a superhero?” Caleb’s voice wobbles from behind the metal door, his words bouncing off porcelain and tile.

“Exactly!” Isabella claps her hands once, her excitement echoing in the small space. “And do you know what’s cool about being different?”

“Nothing,” he mumbles, but I can tell he’s listening. Kids always have a soft spot for superheroes.

“Everything, Caleb. It’s what sets you apart from the crowd.” She leans in closer, as if sharing a secret. “Sometimes, people don’t get that. But who wants to be boring and the same as everyone else?”

“Well, I don’t,” he whispers, and I’m starting to see the light at the end of this crappy tunnel.

“Right. So, when someone tries to make fun of you for it, instead of getting upset, throw them off with a joke. Show them it doesn’t bother you.”

“Can I do that?” His voice is so hopeful it punches me right in the feels.

“Of course, you can.” Isabella’s tone never wavers. “When I was your age, I was taller than all the other girls in my class. They used to tease me about it until one day, I just started laughing along and made jokes about how I could reach things they couldn’t.”

“Really?” The skepticism in Caleb’s voice matches the raised eyebrow I can imagine him sporting.

“Yep. And because I didn’t let it upset me, they had nothing to tease me about anymore. You see, bullies—they’re insecure. Your dad’s right about that.” She taps the stall door rhythmically, adding, “If you show them you’re proud of what makes you ‘you’, they can’t touch you. What do you say? Do you want to give it a try?”

“Okay ... I’ll try.” That’s my boy.

“Great! Now, how about we get out of this bathroom and back to class? You’ve got a superhero image to maintain, kiddo.”

The lock clicks, the door swings open, and there stands Caleb, one tooth short of a full set, looking up at Isabella like she hung the moon. I lean against the wall, arms crossed, a prideful smirk playing on my lips that has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the woman who’s just talked my son out of a bathroom stall with nothing but a few kind words and an anecdote.

Caleb’s little face breaks into a grin, shining with relief. “Thank you, Isabella,” he chirps, sounding nothing short of grateful. He shuffles out from the stall, looking at her like she’s just pulled off some sort of Houdini act. “I’m glad my dad has such a cool friend.”

“Anytime, champ,” she says, ruffling his hair in a way that makes him beam even wider.

Mrs. Warner reaches for Caleb’s hand and leads him back towards the classroom. I hang back, watching them go, feeling thisunfamiliar tightness in my chest loosen a bit. Isabella just defused a crisis that would’ve had me fumbling for a playbook that didn’t exist.

“Thanks,” I say as we start back toward the car, the sun warm on our shoulders. “Truth is, I would have been lost in there without you.”

She gives me this half-smile that’s all modesty and no ego. “You’re doing fine, Adrian. You just need to speak “kid”, that’s all. Even the best lawyers have to adjust their arguments for the audience.”

“Kid language, huh?” I muse, unlocking the car with a beep. “Guess I have to work on that.” My smile feels shaky because it’s new territory—admitting my shortcomings doesn’t usually sit well with me. Caleb’s always been intelligent. It’s easy to talk to him like a little grown-up most of the time. Maybe that’s where I’ve been going wrong this whole time.

“Kids are quite brilliant,” she continues, sliding into the passenger seat as I hold the door open for her, “but their emotions are straightforward. They don’t do hidden agendas or read between the lines. Not yet anyway.”

As I close the door and circle around to my side, I can’t help but think how effortlessly maternal she seems. Here’s Isabella, who could argue the sky down from the heavens if she wanted, revealing a side softer than any courtroom could handle. And damn if it doesn’t suit her.

Settling behind the wheel, my thoughts drift unbidden to the future. I imagine Isabella, not just as Caleb’s champion in bathroom standoffs, but as someone I wake up next to, someone who challenges me over breakfast and backs me up in life.

She’d make a hell of a mom, that’s a given. But a partner? A co-conspirator in the grand heist of living happily ever after? The idea doesn’t sound so far-fetched—not anymore. The question now is whether I’m brave enough to cross that line.

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